


If You Want A Storm

by KindreTurnany



Series: Watchtower [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, M/M, Magical Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindreTurnany/pseuds/KindreTurnany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being home-free is hard when your home is a beacon for monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> This is a better story for Chiomi's work to beta it. I still refuse to put a comma before "too" when it falls at the end of a sentence though.  
> The title comes from "Up 2 U" by Walk The Moon. I named it before I wrote it for the first time, so I'm not sure it fits as well as the others, lol.  
> I welcome constructive criticism. I also welcome comments made entirely of emojis, but I'm not the best at deciphering them.

** **

 

Scott was leaving.

                Stiles' eye twitched and his hands shook as he hugged Scott goodbye. He didn't say anything, but the others were getting better at reading him.

                "UC Davis isn't that far," Scott assured him. "I'll come home on breaks and sometimes on the weekends."

                Stiles couldn't resist saying, "I'll be sure to tell any monsters that try to eat me on a Wednesday to reschedule."

                "Stiles, you can probably beat any monster yourself. There's a reason I feel okay leaving the town in your hands."

                Stiles grinned. "The reason is that Allison is staying with me, isn't it."

                "Absolutely." Scott laughed and pulled Stiles in for another hug. "I'll text when I get there."

                Scott made the rest of his goodbyes. Scott had been planning to leave for a long time, for a year after he should rightfully have started college. He wouldn't tell Stiles about it, but he'd missed out on many of the scholarships he'd qualified for by not applying directly after high school.

                Part of Stiles knew Scott was right. Anything stupid enough to attack Beacon Hills would be pounded to the ground. Still, he worried. Scott had been the one to save Stiles from Watchtower the first time and the last. He kept their pack together. He was their alpha.

                Derek pulled Stiles into a hug from behind. He didn't say anything, just held him against his chest. Stiles leaned his weight back against his boyfriend. He wasn't alone. Scott was leaving, but not forever, and plenty of the others were staying. They would be fine. Stiles would be safe.

                Stiles would never be safe so long as Haha, No and Watchtower were out there.

                "You worry too much," Isaac said after Scott had gone. He was learning to read chemosignals too.

                Stiles made a face at him.

                "Seriously, he's better off leaving. BC3 keeps hiring evil teachers, and not even good ones. Like Umbridge level learning. At least the darach was more Mad-Eye Moody." The Beacon County Community College had been built up, along with much of downtown Beacon Hills and neighboring areas, when people and monsters poured into town, drawn by the awakened nemeton.

                "I am so angry that I understand everything you're saying. Not because I have a problem with Harry Potter, but because it's coming out of your face."

                "Be nice," Allison admonished. She kissed Isaac—lightly, thank God—before pulling back and waving a quick goodbye. If Stiles had her schedule memorized right, she was on her way to Psych 101 at BC3.

                Stiles continued making faces at Isaac until he left too.

                Lydia said, "You know she doesn't care that you disapprove, and you're really only making things harder for yourself by being mean to her boyfriend."

                Most of the others had already gone. They still had a large pack, if loosely tied a lot of the time. The twins didn't even live in town anymore, but they kept in touch with Scott regularly. Even Peter still counted as pack, though he was off who knew where.

                Stiles said, "I promise I would hate Isaac even if he wasn't dating Allison. I have pretty much always hated Isaac."

                Lydia shook her head but let it go. "I guess I should just be grateful you're nice to my boyfriend."

                "Are you kidding? Parrish is great. I love Parrish. If he and I weren't both taken, _I'd_ date him."

                Derek gave Stiles a nudge at that, but a playful nudge. He knew better than to think Stiles would cheat on him, both because they'd been through that, incredibly awkwardly, with Derek's uncle, and because Derek could literally feel Stiles' emotions through the psychic bond they shared.

                Stiles phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked it to find a text from Sara Gregson, a link with no comment. He clicked it and scanned through the news story. Derek waited until he was through, motioning Lydia to wait too.

                "Watchtower news," Stiles explained. "One of the board members made a deal to out the others."

                "Which one?" Lydia asked.

                Stiles shrugged. "It didn't say. I don't even know if it's true." He texted Gregson back to ask if she had confirmation of anything in the article. It wouldn't be either of the two who had taken the bite, Yukio Jackson and Brenna Dorian. Stiles had seen enough new-made werewolves to know they'd be too confident in their newfound power to give up and make a deal with the authorities. Cormac Flynn, Delilah Keynes, and John Mortimer had all been arrested and escaped once already. Presumably, they'd had their chance to give in. Nike wouldn't let Smiler give himself up; besides, the article had specified one of Watchtower's board members, not whatever Smiler was by the end. That left Felix Lorrain, except that as far as Stiles could tell, no one had heard from him anywhere.

                Gregson texted back, "Not sure. Just got a link from Dumbo myself."

                Stiles hadn't realized Dumbo cared enough to keep tabs on Watchtower. He'd always seemed easy going compared to others taken by Watchtower. Stiles could ask him about it later, or, more likely, ask Gregson later after she'd spoken to him.

                "This is a good thing," Lydia said. "With more information, it's more likely they'll catch the others."

                Stiles shrugged. "The human ones, anyway. Hopefully Argent's friends reach the others first." Chris Argent himself was hunting his sister Kate, returned from the dead as a berserker-controlling werejaguar. He'd taken Jax, another of Watchtower's former guards who followed Stiles to freedom, along to train him as a hunter. Most of those who had left Watchtower with Stiles had returned home to their families now that their names were cleared. A few, like Jax, had no family to return to. Spade had gone with his partner Setter, but Dumbo and Gregson had chosen to remain in Beacon Hills with Stiles. Given a little more time, they might even count as pack. As far as Stiles was concerned, Gregson already did.

                "Lydia, can you take Stiles home?" Derek asked.

                Stiles turned and raised an eyebrow at Derek even as Lydia agreed.

                "I'm due to patrol with Cat. She's lingering at the edge of my vision to remind me." Derek shrugged.

                "Which explains why I'm to go without you, but not why I need Lydia. You know I live within walking distance of Scott, right?"

                Derek shrugged, smirking, and backed away to join Cat just before she rounded the corner to leave them behind.

                "Come on." Lydia slipped her arm into his and pulled Stiles away. "Let him have his fun."

                Stiles rolled his eyes but let Lydia guide him home.

 

**~.x.~**

Gregson ran, literally ran, up the sidewalk to the café entrance. Stiles nearly laughed aloud but settled for a smirk as he leaned against the outside wall waiting for her. A few people glanced curiously at Gregson, but no one lingered.

                "Sorry I'm late, sir."

                "This is the first time you've ever been late and only the third I've beaten you here. I think we're good." Stiles gave her a thumbs up. They'd been meeting here to talk over coffee at least once a week for several months now. Usually Stiles was the one running late. Sometimes Derek or Dumbo joined them, but usually it was just Gregson and Stiles.

                Gregson opened the door for Stiles, so he bowed slightly before stepping through. Stiles found a table as far from anyone else as possible while Gregson ordered their drinks. Only a few people stared at him. The regulars were used to the talismans marking his face and neck, but, even growing, Beacon Hills wasn't the largest of cities. A lot of people knew he was the sheriff's son, twice abducted and returned home, living with his father with no prospects for a job or continuing his education. None of them met his eyes.

                "If you're trying to scare away our business, I think it's working," one of the baristas said as she passed his table carrying a pile of plates. Stiles winked at her, and she continued cleaning tables with a laugh.

                Gregson smiled and chatted briefly as she passed the girl but gave her back a more suspicious stare. "Watch out for that one, sir. She keeps watching you wistfully."

                Stiles snorted.

                "I'm serious. Something about the way you brood must appeal to her."

                "I don't brood."

                "You have clearly never watched your own face when you're sitting alone." Gregson grinned.

                Stiles scowled, but it only make Gregson grin harder. He grabbed his latte to distract himself but froze when it hit his tongue and stared at the cup.

                "I did something, didn't I?" he asked.

                "What could you possibly have done?"

                Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Oh we're playing that game, are we?"

                "Game, sir? No, sir." She couldn't quite keep a straight face saying it though.

                Stiles continued drinking, staring Gregson dead in the eye to show he wouldn't be bothered by anything as simple as replacing his caramel macchiato with hazelnut. He could drink hazelnut. He could enjoy hazelnut. Just because it tasted completely wrong in every way didn't mean he would succumb to Gregson's plots.

                "Blegh, I give up." Stiles took his hazelnut latte and stalked up to the counter to find all three baristas ready. The one who had been picking up plates was already giggling.

                "What did you do?" The one at the register asked. He had orange hair that looked roughly like a cat sitting on his head and wore a bottle opener instead of a nametag. He held a drink in his hand.

                Stiles shrugged.

                The barista shook his head. "She already bought you this," he hefted the drink, "but she made us promise not to give it to you."

                "Are you kidding?"

                "Nope."

                Stiles spared a glance for Gregson and found her smugly sipping her own perfect latte. Her birthday hadn't passed, so he couldn't have forgotten that. He hadn't neglected any of his appointments, medical or social, and he'd continued his training with Allison. Overall, he'd been a very good Stiles, the best Stiles anyone could ask for.

                He hadn't, it occurred to him, been a very good _Joker._

                Stiles leaned forward to rest his elbows on the counter and said quietly, "Just remember no one will believe you." At the baristas' confused looks, he grinned as wickedly as he knew how and lifted one hand, gently floating his latte into his grasp. He barely managed it. He hadn't been practicing at all, not even to throw bits of paper at the back of Derek's head, at least not recently.

                When he returned to their table, Gregson said, "I guess that takes care of her crush."

                She seemed satisfied. Stiles couldn't guess why she, of everyone in Beacon Hills, would want him to use the power Jenneva Cole had forced on him. He'd melted her eye out with it. She wore a prosthetic now, but it couldn't return her vision or erase the pain he'd caused.

                Gregson arched an eyebrow, and Stiles guessed he must have been emoting more than he realized. "If you give a kid a gun, you teach him how to use it. Maybe, if you're smart, you never give it to him in the first place, but once he has it, you have to make sure he won't shoot anyone on accident."

                Stiles rubbed a hand through his hair and supposed it made more sense for Gregson to push him to train himself after all. "You know what I don't get?"

                "No."

                "Why aren't you afraid of me?"

                "Who says I'm not?"

                "Gregson, even when you told me I'd melted your eye out and you were worried I'd take the other one, you made sure to punish me for treating you like a tool instead of a person. You're not afraid of me."

                She shook her head and took a drink of her latte—triple shot hazelnut no whip—before answering. "Just because I'm more afraid of being away from you doesn't mean I'm not also afraid of you. You don't see yourself, sir. Sometimes you're not so much a man as a force of nature with a terrible, destructive will. I just know how to weather that storm. The only time you've ever hurt me was when you didn't have control of yourself, so the only time I have to worry I can't keep you from hurting me is when you lose yourself again."

                Stiles noticed she'd said 'when,' not 'if.'

                He changed the topic, and she didn't even blink. "If you could see anything that you can't right now, what would it be?"

                "I guess everyone wants to see the Mona Lisa."

                "No, I mean, like a type of sight you don't have. Like x-ray vision. Or depth perception."

                Her eyes widened. "You are an asshole. If you have the tools to make it, I want an eye that can detect and identify the supernatural."

                Stiles grinned. Gregson hadn't been kidding when she claimed to understand him. "I don't actually know yet if I can do it. I wasn't sure you'd be interested."

                "That's because you're an idiot, sir."

                "Why do you insist on calling me that?"

                "Your friends' job is to help you be healthier. It's my job is to help you be stronger. I call you 'sir' to remind you who you are."

                Joker.

                Stiles clenched his teeth to keep the grin off his face. It wouldn't scare her. The only person Joker seemed to scare anymore was Stiles.

 

**~.x.~**

Apparently Trick had an apartment and didn't just live permanently in their tattoo parlor. Stiles found this almost as suspicious as Danny lounging on the couch of Trick's apartment with a Playstation controller in one hand and a bag of kale chips in the other. People who are not up to something do not eat kale willingly, but apparently Trick loved the stuff because Trick was some sort of hipster masochist.

                "I would have invited you to join the Humans Whine About Their Superpowered Friends Club, but you're the superpowered friend Trick does most of their whining about." Danny shrugged and offered the bag of kale like Stiles would have accepted one.

                "I am not alone," Trick added. "We occasionally have guest speakers, notably Sara and Allison, and let me just say that no one who has met you can resist the urge to complain about you."

                "I'm touched," Stiles deadpanned. "I need a magic eyeball."

                "I don't have one?" Trick mussed their hair, recently dyed a deep violet, the way they did when particularly confused by Stiles' requests. Their hair was such a curly mess it looked no different after mussing than before.

                Danny leaned forward. "Wait, did you say magic eight ball or magic eyeball."

                "Eyeball."

                "Yeah, I'm out. Catch you later, Trick." He saluted and noped his way straight out the door.

                "Wimp," Trick muttered.

                Stiles continued. "Can you help me enchant an object instead of just tattoos?"

                With a deep and morose sigh, Trick collapsed onto the couch Danny had vacated. "A lot of what we do with the tattoos works because it's a particularly artistic type of blood magic sacrifice."

                "So we use blood for this too."

                "The eye is for Sara, right? The friend whose eye you melted into a pile of goop that fell out of her face."

                Stiles nodded. That was one way to put it.

                "I imagine you feel a fair degree of guilt over this and hope to make it up to her with an eye that works way cooler than the one you destroyed."

                Stiles shrugged since that also was a passable phrasing.

                "And that, despite working with it for some time now, you actually have no real understanding of blood magic and don't realize the degree of power over you she would gain through a talisman anointed with your blood, which anyone else could also gain just by gaining her eye from her."

                They'd lost Stiles somewhere in that one, so he tried to look confused.

                "Since we both know you can't be bothered to spend time on anything not related directly to your pack or to hunting down whatshisface, I've been doing a lot of reading and talking to a lot of shady people. Did you know that working with _you_ has had an effect on _me?_ My aura tells people I'm a blood magic user now. They think I'm some sort of morally impaired witch since it also tells them none of the blood I've used is my own. Do you have any idea how much trouble it is to tell every single magic person I speak to that no, I'm not evil; I'm a tattoo artist, and I work for Stiles, you know, the sheriff's kid, the one with the insanely powerful and even more than that beautifully crafted tattoos."

                "Why are so many people angry at me?" Stiles asked, knowing it wasn't what Trick wanted to hear.

                "Stiles, you are an asshole." They shook their head but sat up properly and leaned forward, fixing Stiles with a steady look. "Blood ties to you. Anything anointed in your blood is tied to you. Anything tied strongly enough to you can have power over you. I do not recommend using your blood on anything that could ever fall into an enemy's hands."

                "I'm pretty sure they have my blood already. They've definitely had access."

                "To the blood itself, not to magic you made with it."

                Stiles considered a moment. "Could it be used to hurt you too?"

                "No."

                "Then I think we should do it anyway. You can at least look into it, right?"

                "Yes, fine, whatever. You're paying me though. Just because it's not a tattoo doesn't mean it's not work."

                Stiles agreed more than a little absently. "I want it to see the supernatural, and to be able to distinguish somehow between different types of supernatural."

                "Are you sure?"

                "Why wouldn't I be sure?"

                Trick narrowed their eyes. "You do realize that when you give Sara this new eye, she's definitely going to look at _you,_ right?"

                "Yes."

                "And what she sees will absolutely be the exact power that took her old eye from her."

                "Oh." He bit his lip. "I don't care."

                "Sure you do. We're just going through with this anyway because you're not smart enough not to. Get out. I have work to do."

                Stiles hurried away before Trick could explain why any more of his life choices were the wrong ones.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles left the Jeep parked in front of the station in the middle of the parking lot. 'Parked' might have been too generous a word. 'Left to its doom where it broke down on him again' might have done better. He needed to ask his dad for money for a new battery, but first he needed to ask his dad for money for a magic eyeball. He hefted the paper sack to show the deputy on duty, Lydia's boyfriend Parrish, he was just there to deliver his dad lunch. Lunch in the form of a generous bribe called a bacon cheeseburger and curly fries.

                "Oh, thank God," was the first thing Stiles heard when he pushed open the door to his father's office. His dad hadn't even seen him yet. He groaned when he did. "What do you want?"

                "I brought lunch." Stiles shook the bag. "Happy to see you too."

                He eyed the room's other occupant suspiciously. He hadn't fully turned to Stiles yet, having apparently needed a moment to sigh and roll his eyes at just the sound of Stiles' voice first. Then he turned, froze, and stammered something Stiles was sure wasn't meant to be a greeting.

                "No, I didn't bring one for you," Stiles said, stepping forward to drop the burger on his father's desk. "I did also come to ask for a little extra allowa—"

                "No," his dad cut in.

                "I didn't even tell you what it was for."

                "I talked to Derek."

                Stiles groaned. Derek had talked to Trick. Stiles had asked him to fund the eye first. "You didn't even look in the bag."

                His dad grabbed the bag and immediately unwrapped the burger and dug in. "Answer's still no. Now go home."

                "Can't. Jeep's broken."

                "Again?"

                "More like still."

                His dad's no-doubt unwanted guest finally managed to blurt out, "I knew you were hiding something, Stilinski."

                Stiles sneered at the man, glad that Scott wasn't in town to deal with his father's return to Beacon Hills. He was supposed to be out hunting Watchtower, not pestering people in Beacon Hills.

                "What are you talking about?" Stiles' dad asked.

                "I told you I was looking for someone in Beacon Hills who might have information that could help me. I gave you the full physical description as well as known alias for this person."

                "Yes, I was here for that."

                "You said you couldn't tell me who it was."

                "I was here for that too."

                Raphael McCall jabbed a finger at Stiles' face. "It's your son."

                Stiles froze, staring at that finger. The board all knew about him, though not as 'Stiles,' he supposed. They had to know his face though, his distinctive scars and tattoos: a spade under his left eye, the point of a diamond on the side of his neck, and a club carved into his temple.

                "If you think you're doing anything to my son, I strongly suggest you reconsider." Stiles' dad set aside his lunch and stood slowly with his eyes trained on McCall's.

                "I don't have any sort of information that could help you, except maybe directions for how to get out of town," Stiles said, dropping into a chair.

                "My sources identified... _you_ as one of Watchtower's single most powerful agents," McCall insisted. "They said you'd," he shook his head. "They said you'd slaughtered countless others and once took control of the entire organization until you were ousted by an outside party."

                Stiles narrowed his eyes and tried to look vaguely incredulous.

                "They said you might know something about the whereabouts of Dimitri Sorokin."

                Stiles shook his head. If he knew where Haha, No was, he'd be dead. Again.

                "They also said you were one of those forced in, so I came here to offer you a deal for leniency in exchange for information. I just didn't expect you to be you."

                "Deal for leniency?" Stiles raised an eyebrow.

                "I hope you're reconsidering hard." Stiles' dad's face was turning red as he glared at Agent McCall.

                Surprise. Not Stiles'. Derek's. He was out on patrol with Cat, but didn't seem to be alarmed. Stiles could ask him about it later. It had to be something strong though to carry through the bond and overwhelm Stiles so suddenly.

                McCall sighed. "Look, I'm not going to arrest your son. Just tell me if you two know anything."

                Stiles shook his head. "I have nothing for you."

                "You have to know something. You were a prisoner for months and a commander later on. You can't just know nothing."

                Stiles raised his hands, palm up to show he just had nothing to give.

                "I know you're lying, Stiles. You know _something_."

                "I know exactly what you know," Stiles snapped. "A little less now. We sent you what we knew in an email, you asshole. I don't have anything else to give."

                McCall hesitated. "That was you?"

                Stiles nodded.

                McCall looked from Stiles to his father and back. Stiles figured that was as good a time as any to leave and vacated first his chair, then the office. At the desk he had to ask Parrish for help jumpstarting his Jeep, but McCall didn't follow.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles met Allison and Lydia for lunch after leaving the station. Roscoe the Jeep didn't even give out on the way to Lydia's house. Stiles almost let himself believe the rest of the day would be a good one, but the kitchen table was suspiciously littered with online university brochures. There was even one for Empire State where Lydia was taking classes. He pointedly didn't look at them and set his glass of water down directly on top of them without a coaster. Lydia rolled her eyes. Allison looked to be asking God what she'd done to deserve Stiles as a friend.

                "I, uh, need to call Scott if that's okay," Stiles said.

                "Why?" Allison asked as he pulled out his phone.

                "You're about to hear me tell him." Stiles dialed and waited for Scott to pick up. "Are you alone?"

                "Mostly?" Scott said.

                "I mean can anyone overhear me."

                "No."

                "Your dad is in town. He showed up with a description of Joker and recognized me when I was dumb enough to walk in front of him. I may also have given away that we sent him that email."

                "Crap."

                "Yeah, loads of crap. Just heaping piles of it. I hate your dad."

                "Do you want me to come back?"

                "No, Scotty, there's nothing you can do. I just thought you should know. Later." He waited just long enough for Scott to start asking if he was sure before hanging up on him.

                Lydia and Allison had settled down across the table to stare at him. They'd set out lunch but hadn't started eating.

                "If he recognized you but let you go, does that mean he doesn't want to interrogate you?" Lydia asked.

                "It means my dad made it clear he wasn't welcome to, and I told him I sent him everything I know." Stiles reached for his plate but hesitated at the girls' glares. "Why am I in trouble?"

                Allison asked, "How much does he know about Joker?"

                "I didn't stick around to ask. He knows I was kidnapped and later scared a bunch of people into doing what I said, though I don't think he knows how closely I was working with Sorokin." It felt strange to call Haha, No by that name.

                "Do you think he's going to let it go?" Allison continued.

                "Absolutely not. Scott's dad is a shithead."

                Lydia asked, "Are you in danger?"

                Stiles shook his head. "He wants information to catch the other guys. Even before he realized I was the guy he thought could help him, he intended to offer a deal."

                They stared at him, both through narrowed eyes before Allison finally motioned to his plate and commanded, "Eat."

                They had made grilled chicken wraps with lettuce. Stiles began nibbling at it without much interest while Lydia watched him with something closer to pity than betrayal. He had trouble showing much interest in food. It was why he tried to meet friends for meals. If he didn't, there was a fair chance he wouldn't eat at all.

                Derek and Cat pushed through the door without knocking and threw together their own wraps from food Lydia had left on the counter. The small kitchen table was only made to hold four, but Derek dragged in a chair from the dining room rather than push the whole group to move.

                _Not a good food day?_ Derek's thought reached Stiles through their bond.

                Stiles shrugged. _Sometimes it's harder._ Some meals tasted like heaven, and others tasted like ash. The quality of the food didn't seem to make a difference. _Scott's dad is in town. He knows I'm Joker._

Derek send wordless alarm through the bond, but Stiles assured him everything was fine.

                _Something startled you on your patrol. What was it?_

_"_ We saw a coyote," Derek said aloud. "It had a strange aura for a coyote."

                Stiles asked, "Do coyotes usually have auras?"

                "Everything has auras." Derek shoved half his wrap in his mouth in one go while Stiles eyed him suspiciously.

                "Do I have an aura?"

                "Yes."

                "What's it say?"

                "It says you need to shut up sometimes but absolutely won't, not ever, for any reason."

                "Damn, my aura's accurate as hell." Stiles tried to eat more of his wrap, but even with Derek smiling at him, it didn't taste like anything.

                Allison cut in, "What was weird about the coyote's aura?"

                "It was a human aura," Cat said. "We think she's a shapeshifter."

                "A werecoyote?" Lydia asked.

                Cat shrugged.

                "Did you try talking to her?" Allison asked.

                "She ran away. We lost her," Derek answered. He studied the college brochures littering the table. "Do you know if any of these have very good history departments?"

                Cat groaned, "You too?"

                "I don't have any hobbies except stalking teenagers," Derek said.

                Stiles snorted. "I'll be twenty next year, and you read a lot."

                Derek shrugged and accepted several Lydia had picked out for him while they spoke.

                "All of these offer online degrees," she said, "so you wouldn't need to leave Beacon Hills. Just buy a computer."

                "You mean those shiny things with all the buttons Stiles likes to clack on?"

                The others didn't laugh until after Stiles started choking on lettuce. He wondered if they'd thought Derek was serious.

                Derek was glaring at them. "I own a laptop," he said. "My loft has working electricity, and I drive a Camaro instead of a coach-and-four."

                Allison winced. "Sorry."

                Lydia pursed her lips as if to say any misconceptions were Derek's own fault.

                Derek's eyebrows lowered, turning his stare into a glower. "Fine. Then which of you is going to tell us what my uncle wanted?"

                Lydia and Allison shared a look.

                "Peter's back?" Stiles asked. To his knowledge, he was Peter's closest living friend. He'd have expected to be the first to know when Peter came to town.

                Derek ignored him, staring across the table. "Well? I can smell him on you."

                "He wanted me to banshee something. I was no help to him." Lydia lifted one shoulder in a sassy shrug and left it at that with her eyebrows raised as if daring Derek to ask for more.

                He sighed and didn't.

                Stiles texted, "Jerk," to Peter and finished his lunch.

 

**~.x.~**

Peter sighed even more dramatically than Derek would have and dropped himself onto the couch with his arms spread. "You're not my mother, Stiles. I don't have to tell you where I am every second of every day."

                "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't share that information even with your mother, and I was just saying a, 'hey, man, I'm in town,' would be nice." Stiles crossed his arms and tried to look annoyed. He didn't actually expect Peter to check in with him. He'd assumed Peter would sooner speak to Stiles than Lydia, but that didn't mean his feelings were hurt. Mostly, he hoped to get Peter to tell him whatever Lydia wouldn't.

                "I'll keep it in mind. Are you just here to yell at me, or should we get dinner?"

                Stiles checked the time on his cell phone. Derek would be researching colleges and werecoyotes for a while yet, but it was just past six. "Yes, dinner." If he didn't eat with Peter now, he probably wouldn't have time until after ten since he still wanted to badger Trick tonight.

                "Dine in or out?"

                Stiles shrugged. "Lunch tasted like dust, so don't go out of your way."

                "One of those days, then." Peter grabbed his phone and ordered pizza with ham and pineapple.

                "I'm changing the name of that pizza to kanima because there are places pineapple just doesn't belong."

                Peter shrugged. "You wouldn't like it anyway. At least if you're annoyed you're feeling something more than nothing."

                With a huff, Stiles dropped himself onto the couch beside Peter. "You talked to Lydia," he said.

                "Obviously."

                "What about?"

                "Less than I had hoped to."

                Stiles scrunched his face up. "Seriously? That's what you're going with?"

                "Well, it's not a lie."

                "Does that mean you won't tell me?"

                Peter rolled his shoulder uncomfortably. "I'm not sure yet if I want to tell anyone, even you."

                "Did you threaten Lydia to keep her from telling?"

                "Of course not. Allison was there the whole time; you can ask her. If they didn't say what we talked about, then it's because they don't think it's worth sharing."

                Stiles squirmed. "Feeling of the day: uncomfortable about my friend going behind my back to bother another friend who the first friend has a history of abusing, with abuse being defined as mental torture and physical assault."

                "Thanks, Stiles. It really means a lot. Why do you think she brought Allison?"

                "I just don't see why you had to—"

                "She's a banshee. I needed banshee powers to listen to my dead sister through her claws. Happy now?"

                "No?"

                "Good, me neither. Get the door."

                A knock came at the door as soon as Stiles stood. Peter handed over a wad of cash, which Stiles traded for the pizza without taking any change. The delivery boy looked equal parts confused and grateful. Stiles supposed most people didn't give forty dollar tips.

                "I'll remember to count it ahead of time in the future," Peter said before biting into his terrible pizza.

                Stiles glared at his own dinner for several seconds before giving in. "You were right," he said once he'd taken a bite. "It tastes less like ash when I'm busy hating it, but to be fair, this pizza never had any flavor to begin with."

                Peter grinned. It faded to a smile and then a thoughtful stare. In a voice much softer than he usually used, he said, "I'm a father. Talia took the memory from me. I still don't know who my child is or who their mother was."

                "Shit."

                "Yeah."

                "Lydia doesn't know who it is?"

                Peter shook his head. "She's not very receptive to my coaching for obvious reasons, so she couldn't get anything more."

                "You mentioned your sister's claws. Is that why you were out of town?"

                "Retrieving them from a family of hunters with no right to hold them, yes."

                "Are those hunters likely to come here in retaliation?" Stiles asked.

                Peter shrugged. He turned on the TV, and they finished eating the pizza while listening to Gordon Ramsay lecture terrible restaurant owners. Leaning back on Peter's couch, Stiles considered leaving Trick be for another day. He was comfortable here, as comfortable as he ever was at home or at the loft.

                After a while, Peter turned down the volume and set a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "It was Keynes. The board member who gave themself up. She knew very little about the others' location. The funny thing is she claimed not even to know Lorrain's face. She knew yours though."

                "FBI already contacted me," Stiles said. He left it at that for a moment, just to let Peter worry as payback for waiting so long to bring up Keynes. "Scott's dad came to town, took one look at my face, and knew I was his man. I'm still free, so that's good."

                Peter pinched Stiles' arm. "You can be an ass, Stiles."

                "Back atchya. How did you find that out? Gregson couldn't get anything."

                "I know a lot of people. Since you got involved with Watchtower, I've made it my business to know even more people. I may also now owe someone your autograph."

                Stiles snorted. "Seriously?"

                "Preferably on a photo of you. The cartoon Joker or a playing card would do as a substitute. In fact if you could just prep a collection of them for me, I can start trading your fame for favors any time."

                "Do you have a deck and a pen?"

                Peter did, though he seemed surprised by Stiles' willingness. Good. Peter predicted him too well by far most of the time.

                "Should I sign as Joker or as Stiles?"

                "Joker, dumbass."

                "Hey, you can't talk to me that way. I'm famous. For killing people. I'm a famous serial killer. Godamnit." Stiles signed cards as he spoke. He wondered how they could confirm he'd done it. 'Joker' wasn't his real signature.

                "Don't feel bad. I tried the serial killer thing too. I just didn't attract fans the way you do. Say what you want about his moral failings, but Dimitri is an exceptional publicist."

                Stiles had to stop signing long enough to let a fit of laughter pass. "Dude, I don't believe you're actually getting anything of use from these anyway."

                "I know what I'm doing, Stiles."

                Stiles resisted the urge to say, 'But not _who_ you've been doing, amirite,' but only just barely. He got the feeling Peter picked up on the thought somehow anyway. Probably Stiles made a stupid face. He did that sometimes.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles didn't make it to Trick's apartment. He shot off a suitably annoying text before leaving Peter's place and went home. He was tired. There had been a time he couldn't go one place on his own without incident, and today he'd been all over town. He looked forward to climbing into bed with Derek and relaxing.

                Stiles reached through the bond to see if Derek was at Stiles' house. He was, and already in bed waiting for Stiles. And naked. Stiles disregarded a few traffic laws to get home faster and hoped his father was asleep or at work.

                Derek was feigning sleep, lying spread out over the bed with his mouth hanging open. His amusement carried through the bond. Stiles tossed his keys on the desk—well, he would have missed the desk but cheated a little with his club talisman—and kicked his shoes off before straddling Derek on the bed.

                He rained kisses down on Derek's face and neck, but Derek just started snoring. Stiles reached his fingers down to the ticklish spot on Derek's ribs mercilessly, leaving Derek no choice but to curl around him giggling for all the world like a kid instead of a grown-ass werewolf.

                "I give, I give!" Derek gasped, kissing Stiles' neck where he could reach despite trying to curl around him into a ball.

                Stiles stopped tickling and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, planting a solid smooch right on his forehead. "Serves you right though."

                Derek slid his hands down from Stiles back to grip his ass. "Oh, does it now?"

                "Yeah, and I'm—God fucking damn it!" The last he shouted at his ringing phone. It was Gregson. He answered.

                She said, "Sir, we have a problem."

                "I figured that since you're calling me when I'm busy. What is it?"

                Derek leaned back and cradled his head on his hands, waiting.

                Gregson cleared her throat before continuing. "I think someone figured out Dumbo doesn't exist."

                "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

                "Edmund Philips is a pseudonym."

                "Who the hell is Edmund Philips?"

                "Dumbo is."

                "So Dumbo is Edmund Philips, but Dumbo also is _not_ Edmund Philips?"

                "Yes, sir."

                "So who is Dumbo really?"

                "I don't know, sir, but you're not the only one interested."

                "I'm really not sure why you needed to bother me with this." Stiles dropped himself to collapse into bed beside Derek, who wrapped an arm around him, pulling Stiles close against his chest.

                "Sorry, sir. Maybe I should have led with that. We just killed a werewolf trying to abduct him. Her partner got away."

                "Shit."

                "Yes, sir. Shit, sir."

                "Shut up and get over here with Dumbo."

                "Be right there, sir." She hung up.

                Stiles massaged his temples. It didn't help.

                "I guess I should put pants on," Derek said.

                Stiles only groaned, so Derek got himself dressed.

                When Gregson and Dumbo arrived, Stiles sat them down in the living room and glared copiously. Derek helped. He had great eyebrows for glaring.

                Stiles leveled a finger at Dumbo and ordered, "Explain."

                "I'm a spy from an organization so secret we don't even know it's name. I've been keeping tabs on Watchtower for years, working my way through the ranks until you made my subordinate into my commanding officer. When I was eight, Watchtower kidnapped my mother, which—"

                "Shut up, Dumbo," Gregson interrupted. "He's a compulsive liar, sir. Or playing the part of one. There's a reason I generally don't let him talk to you."

                Stiles ran his hands through his hair roughly. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

                "Unfortunately not. It's why I've never been able to figure out who he actually is. First time I met him, Dumbo was serving on a different squad with the name Leopold Carson. Insisted his friends call him LeCar, but I'm not convinced he had any friends. No one seemed to mind or notice when he changed his name."

                Dumbo explained, "Watchtower soldiers are trained not to ask too many questions."

                "That's true, at least," Gregson confirmed.

                Stiles continued ruining his hair. Derek hadn't sensed a thing when Dumbo started lying. No change in heart rate, no anxiety, not even a change in his breathing. So either he could lie as well as most people told the truth, or it _had_ been the truth, and Gregson just couldn't trust him anymore.

                "For curiosity's sake," Stiles said, "give me another origin story, Dumbo."

                "I was raised in the circus, forced to care for the elephants, which is why I like the name you gave me so much. Elephants are majestic creatures. Watchtower recruited me by framing me for the murders of everyone else in the circus, who they assassinated one by one until I was the only one left. I was only eleven at the time. They've trained me since childhood to be the ultimate killing machine, which is also why I'm so socially disarming."

                Derek got nothing from him. Nothing.

                "Damn," Stiles said.

                Dumbo aimed a pair of finger guns straight at Stiles until Gregson pushed his hands down.

                "I don't suppose you'd be willing to just... give us your birth name?" Stiles asked.

                Dumbo shrugged. "I don't exist."

                "You saying that only convinces me you _do_ exist."

                Now Dumbo grinned. "The funny thing about a lie is it's most convincing if at least part of it is true."

                "So you admit you're lying."

                "I would never lie to my superior officer, sir."

                Gregson buried her face in her hands with a groan. She must have already been through this.

                Stiles said, "It's late. You two stay here for the night. We'll gather the pack tomorrow to figure out a plan. Have you taken care of the werewolf's body?"

                "Yes, sir," Gregson said, face still in her hands.

                Stiles waved vaguely even though she couldn't see it and left the room to get ready for bed.

 

**~.x.~**

The rest of the pack got nothing more from Dumbo than Gregson and Stiles had. Peter offered to torture him, but Stiles shushed him as Dumbo laughed at the idea. Derek and Cat pulled Peter aside, but Stiles didn't get the feeling they were talking about Dumbo. Lydia and Dumbo seemed to be having a staring contest.

                "We should lock him up," Allison said, standing at Stiles' right side. "To protect him and to protect everyone else if it turns out whatever he's hiding could harm us."

                Stiles nodded. "We need to tell Scott too."

                "Peter, do you still own that warehouse?" Allison asked.

                Peter looked up from his conversation and shook his head. "I sold it to someone who wanted to build a shopping mall there."

                "Why?"

                "They made a great offer." Peter patted Derek on the shoulder and ignored his nephew baring his fangs at him.

                Gregson said, "Locking Dumbo up wouldn't work anyway. He's a master escape artist."

                "Are you kidding me?" Stiles damn near shouted it.

                "I wish I was. And I'm speaking from experience, not based on anything he's told me."

                Dumbo shrugged apologetically.

                Stiles jabbed his finger at Gregson, "If Dumbo is so skilled, why didn't I know about it before? I literally call the guy Dumbo. You let me. _You_ call him Dumbo."

                Gregson tilted her head. "Sir, do you know I'm a black belt? Or that I speak four languages? Or that the man you killed when we met, Mort, had three PhD's?"

                "No?"

                "You adopted one of the most unique human squads in Watchtower. Many of us were in training to leave the guard program and become researchers or managers. Dumbo was the only one without a mentor in a higher position, and most of us assumed it was because he's not actually a guard at all. Half the squad believed he was the one set to monitor our progress."

                "Shit. Why didn't you ever tell me that? Why did you all seem so normal? Why the hell did you do what I said when we met?"

                Dumbo started laughing.

                Gregson said, "To be fair, part of why we were training to find new positions is that we were better suited for other work than guard duty."

                "That means we're shit as soldiers," Dumbo clarified.

                "That doesn't explain why you never told me," Stiles said to Gregson.

                "You don't listen to a damn thing I say unless it's immediately relevant. I'm telling you now because you'll pay attention now. I didn't tell you before because you'd have forgotten anyway."

                Stiles almost tried to respond but let it go. "Peter," he said instead. "How do you feel about a trip inside Dumbo's head?"

                A smoke grenade detonated as soon as he finished speaking.

                "Damn it, Dumbo!" Gregson shouted.

                The door slammed open but not shut. By the time Stiles reached it, Dumbo was out of sight. Derek and Cat ran after him, but Stiles got the feeling they wouldn't have much luck.

                "I guess his secrets are really important to him," Stiles said.

                "He'll be back," Gregson said. "He likes you. But he'll take his sweet time about it, and we have to just hope he doesn't get himself killed in the meantime."

                "So," Stiles said, "are there any other major security risks you haven't bothered to tell me about?"

                "I wouldn't know, sir. I'll think about it while you think on why you didn't stop the smoke from concealing his escape." Gregson saluted and walked stiffly from the house.

                Stiles bit his lip. "I forgot I could," he muttered, pushing the last of the smoke out the open front door.

 

**~.x.~**

"It hasn't even been a month," were Scott's first words to Stiles after he got back into town on Friday night. "And you've already got the FBI in town, a Watchtower attack, a wild werecoyote, and dissention in the ranks."

                From his study, Stiles' dad added, "That doesn't even include all these missing persons." Stiles could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose from the sound of his voice alone. He'd been working a lot of overtime but hadn't said why before.

                "Look, no one in the circus knew their elephant could fly until he showed them either," Stiles said.

                Scott shook his head, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. "I'll talk to my dad," he said.

                Stiles shrugged. "I don't even know why he's still in town. I told him he has everything I know."

                "Maybe he knew you were lying."

                "Hey, I am an excellent liar." When Scott raised an incredulous eyebrow, Stiles said, "My name is Carter, and I'm secretly in love with the moon."

                "Yeah, but that's obviously a lie, and you're not under any pressure to be convincing. It's different."

                "But you got nothing from me, right Scotty?" Stiles had been practicing, mostly with Peter because Cat and Derek seemed not to approve.

                Scott sighed. "Right. You said Dumbo can do the same thing?"

                "Yeah, and then some."

                "Derek said they think they're close to finding the coyote's den, and that they did find wreckage from an old car crash with her scent all over it, so that will give us somewhere to start."

                Stiles gave a thumbs up. "And that just leaves our Watchtower problems."

                Stiles dad poked his head out from his office. "Did you just use coyote and old car wreck in the same sentence?"

                "Yeah, why?"

                The sheriff shook his head. "Not sure yet, just sounds familiar." He returned to his office.

                Stiles shook his head. "I think he needs a vacation."

                Scott nodded. "A long one."

                "I can hear you," Stiles' dad said.

                Stiles pulled Scott away from the office toward the front door. "So do you want to check out the wreck or talk to your dad first?"

                Scott groaned.

                "Not your dad, then."

                Stiles drove because Scott still had a motorcycle instead of a car, but he had to keep swatting Scott's hands away from the console.

                "What's that?" Scott asked, shoving his finger into Stiles' space.

                "Nothing."

                "Really? Because it looks like a check engine light."

                "Shut up, Scott."

                Scott shrugged and shut up until the low fuel light came on. "What about that one? And why is it on if the gas gauge says you're still full?"

                "One or both of them may be completely broken," Stiles admitted. "This should be the spot." He pulled the Jeep over and parked it, hoping he'd be able to turn it back on later.

                "Are you going to strand me in the middle of the woods?"

                Stiles scoffed. "Obviously I'm going to sacrifice you to the coyote in the middle of the woods."

                "Yeah, that's cooler," Scott said absently, already turning away. He led the way, following his senses until they reached the crash.

                "You can smell it?" Stiles asked.

                "Yeah, it smells... sad, I guess. Guilty?" Scott eyed the wreckage. There were scratches running through metal and bite marks on the car seats.

                "The car smells guilty?"

                "No, I mean whoever keeps visiting it has felt a lot of guilt here. The scent lingers. Derek said this was linked to the werecoyote, right? Maybe she feels bad about it."

                Stiles shrugged. He couldn't smell emotions.

                He caught sight of something in the car, pale tan contrasting the darker cloth of the seats. When he ducked forward to look, he found a baby doll, old and worn, wedged into what would have been headspace if the car were upright. A growl stopped Stiles in his tracks as he reached for the doll. He looked up through the shattered window to see a coyote snarling down at him with her eyes glowing a brilliant blue. A murderer, then. Stiles knew as well as anyone that blue eyes didn't make the shifter a villain, but they still meant she was capable. And dangerous.

                Scott growled, shifting and spreading his arms to show off his claws. At the red glow of his eyes the coyote turned and ran. Scott followed, loping on all fours.

                "I'll just wait here," Stiles called after them. He grabbed the doll and studied it but saw nothing of use. Maybe he could figure it out later. Stiles turned back toward the Jeep to stow the doll while he waited for Scott to return.

                Dumbo tackled him. A gun fired. Stiles rolled, pulling Dumbo with him back toward the wreck.

                "What the hell are you doing out here?" Stiles demanded in an angry whisper while searching for the shooter.

                "Stalking you. What the hell are _you_ doing out here?" Dumbo pointed the shooter out to Stiles. Whoever they were, they'd hidden behind a tree. All Stiles could make out was their knee.

                "Stalking coyotes. What the hell are _they_ doing out here?" He motioned to the shooter.

                "Stalking me. He's the partner of the one Gregson killed when it attacked me."

                "Why are they after you?"

                Dumbo set his hand on Stiles shoulder and waited until Stiles looked at him to roll his eyes dramatically. Stiles had never taken much notice of Dumbo, though now that he thought of it, Dumbo had been the only member of the squad to challenge him other than their commander Mort. Dumbo had been the only one to question his orders. Later he'd been the only one to _request_ the arena program. Then he was the only one to stay behind with Stiles and Gregson when everyone else went home.

                "Dumbo, if your secrets get me killed, I'm changing your name to something stupider."

                "Aw, boss, no need to be petty." He smirked. "Especially since you can't rename people in hell."

                "Oh I'll find a fucking way. He's on the move. Come on."

                The shooter circled through the trees and underbrush, trying to flank their position by the car. Stiles and Dumbo moved to keep their eyes on him right up until Dumbo stood in the middle of his line of fire, pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans and shot him in the head.

                "What the hell, Dumbo, we could have questioned him." Stiles was more resigned than angry. Dumbo probably knew exactly what he had been after and who he was working for. He sighed. "I don't suppose you know why he fired on me if he's after you?"

                Dumbo shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't like creepos who steal baby dolls."

                "This is evidence."

                "Of what?"

                "I'm not sure yet."

                Dumbo saluted and headed off toward the Jeep, leaving Stiles no choice but to follow.

                "Are you coming back with us?" Stiles asked.

                "Are you gonna let someone werewolf memory claw my neck?"

                Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head, then sighed for good measure.

                Dumbo asked, "Has it occurred to you that if I told you I'd have to kill you?"

                "Shut up, Dumbo."

                "Gregson always makes working with you seem so glamorously badass. I knew she was full of it."

                "I melted her eye out of her socket."

                "Yeah, whatever. I'm sure it was very traumatizing."

                "I never realized you were such an asshole."

                "Takes one to know one." Dumbo pulled out the finger guns.

                "No, it doesn't. I mean, I am. An asshole. But nice people also would know that you are an asshole too."

                Scott ran into view, saving them from any more thrilling conversation. "I lost her. She can really run." He eyed Dumbo briefly, eyes flashing.

                Stiles filled Scott in about the attack on the way back.

 

**~.x.~**

 

"Let the police do their job for once, Stiles," his dad said, leaning over the edge of the table and squinting his eyes like maybe he'll be able to see the point when his son started ignoring the law if he looks harder. "You can't just 'take care of' every body. The government knows about Watchtower now. We can process the body."

                "And track down the murderer," Stiles added, pointing at Dumbo. "Or me, since my fingerprints are all over the car."

                "You reported the body, so of course you were at the scene. We don't need to mention... Dumbo."

                "So we let the police do their jobs without letting the police do their jobs. Great thinking, Dad. Really coherent. All the logic there is internally consistent and everything."

                "Stiles," his dad sighed.

                "What? It's a bad idea."

                Scott interrupted, "I think it's a good idea. Maybe if everyone knew the bodies would go to the police, they'd stop killing everyone who attacks."

                "Self defense," Dumbo said distractedly. He was doodling on the pad of paper the Stilinskis used for a grocery list. It was a shitty drawing, but Stiles thought it was supposed to be Scott.

                "Which is legal," Scott said. "But I don't think your gun is, so maybe next time you can knock them out?"

                Stiles' dad added, "I think having a live witness would distract Raphael. He keeps lurking in the station giving me these betrayed glares."

                Dumbo looked up from his doodle long enough to say, "I'm sure arresting your son would also distract him." He flipped the page and started on what might have been a dog.

                "Don't worry, Stiles. He agreed to leave you alone." His dad set a hand on Stiles' arm to comfort him. "But we may be able to learn something from the body, something that the rest of you couldn't get by either disposing of it or hiding it away to study."

                "Fine." Stiles glowered, but no one seemed to notice. "Where is Gregson anyway? She should be watching Dumbo."

                "She's at Trick's," Dumbo said. "I don't need a keeper."

                "You need like seventeen keepers. An evil spirit possessed Allison a while back. Maybe we can get a spirit to possess you to keep you in place."

                "Or." Dumbo pointed the pen at Stiles. "You could just not. I've been fine so far on my own."

                "You said Gregson killed the shifter that attacked you."

                "Gregson is a wonderful person, but I have as much training as she does. I can take care of myself."

                Stiles' dad stood up. "I'm going to the station, then I'm picking up the body. Stiles, your phone was dead, so you came home to tell me about the body."

                Stiles groaned and waved something like assent while Dumbo snickered.

                "Shut your face Dumbo, or I'll call in Setter to help Gregson guard you."

                Dumbo shut his face but threw the pad of paper at Stiles' nose.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles' hands jittered with nerves as he pushed into Trick's shop. They waved for him to wait as they finished charging a large man with a bandage covering a huge swath of his left arm. Then they pushed Stiles into one of the waiting chairs and took the other for themself.

                "Sara's helped me pick out the design for her eye. It's a little trippy to be honest. I pegged her for the trying to blend in type."

                "You told her?"

                Trick rolled their eyes. "Of course I told her. She already knew for one thing, and she deserved to choose the look of the thing she'd be wearing in her face. Maybe she plans to keep her current prosthetic for when she wants to look normal."

                "How weird is the eye she picked?"

                Trick shrugged. "Not bad. You'll see it when it gets here."

                Stiles tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. "I don't have much time right now. Did you call me down here just for that?"

                "Of course not. I need a vial of your blood."

                "You don't even have the eye yet."

                "You wanna give your friend supervision or not, asshole?"

                "I'm headed to the police station right now. Maybe you can bleed me sometime it won't look suspicious to the FBI?"

                Trick leaned forward in their chair. "Lemme get this straight. You claim you're dedicated enough to this to risk your life, but you won't risk a little interview with your friend's dad?"

                "Whatever, just be quick."

                Trick took him to the back. They had a needle, so Stiles figured at least he'd look more like a junkie than a palm-slashing blood mage. As soon as Trick had enough of his blood to fill a small vial, they kicked him out, claiming he'd scare off their real customers. At least they didn't ask him for payment yet. He still didn't have it.

 

**~.x.~**

Scott rushed out of the police station as Stiles pulled up. "Where have you been?" Scott demanded, tugging Stiles toward the door by his arm. "My dad already thinks you skipped town."

                "My Jeep is a piece of shit and broke down halfway here. Chill." Stiles knew he had no right to tell his friend to chill. His own hands were shaking.

                Stiles' father met them inside the station and motioned them to follow him into his office where Raphael McCall waited.

                "I know your father submitted your statement," McCall said, motioning for Stiles to sit, "but I just want to make sure I understand the details."

                Stiles shrugged, forcing his hands to still. Scott and the sheriff both sat. They had insisted on being present. Derek was nearby, unworried despite Stiles’ own nerves. He seemed to think Stiles would want him there when McCall was finished with him. To be honest, Stiles wanted him there _now._

                "Did you know when you saw the body that it was a Watchtower agent?" McCall asked.

                "I sort of assume half the people I see on any given day are Watchtower agents, but I didn't poke around to find out for sure because I didn't want to contaminate a crime scene." Stiles scratched at the inside of his arm where Trick had pricked him to draw blood. "I also didn't want to be there alone if there were more of them."

                McCall crossed his arms. "Why were you there in the first place?"

                "My boyfriend goes on jogs through the woods. He told me about an old car wreck he saw out there, and I wanted to see it."

                "Derek Hale, right?"

                Stiles nodded.

                "Why would you care to look at a wrecked car?"

                Stiles smirked like it was obvious. "I'm unemployed. That gets boring. Honestly if he didn't keep going long past the point where I get winded, I'd start jogging with Derek for something to do."

                "You realize most people get jobs."

                "Do _you_ think I'm fit for customer service or office environments?"

                McCall obviously had nothing to say to that. It quickly became clear he had nothing much to say at all. He kept trying to trick Stiles into revealing something about Watchtower. In the end, Stiles' dad told McCall the interview was finished and had Scott take Stiles outside. Derek met them there and pulled Stiles immediately into a hug.

                "It wasn't that bad," Stiles assured him.

                "I know." Derek leaned down to kiss him. "But I missed you."

                Stiles smirked at Derek and pulled him in for another kiss as Scott made gagging noises. Stiles flipped him off and pulled his mouth away from Derek's just long enough to say, "Payback for when you were dating Allison."

                Scott pretended to beat his forehead against the wall until Stiles' dad came outside to tell them they were free to go.

                They called most of the pack over to Derek's loft that night to play games and watch a movie like they were normal people. The next morning, Scott went back to school.

 

**~.x.~**

Peter put his feet on the coffee table even though he always scolded Stiles for the same thing. "No one knows where Sorokin is. Not even if I ask really, really nicely."

                Stiles tugged his fingers through his hair.

                "Keep that up, and you're going to go bald young," Peter said.

                Stiles tugged harder. " _Someone_ has to know where he is."

                "Did Danny agree to hack into Sorokin's email accounts?"

                Stiles shook his head. "I think Scott's dad figured him out and talked to him. If I even start to ask Danny for a favor he throws kale chips at me now."

                "So Danny figured _you_ out too."

                "I swear to God those things are worse than your pizza." Stiles scrunched his face in disgust. "Derek and Scott just tell me to focus on recovery or applying to college. Dumbo is an asshole. Gregson does her best, but a spy she is not."

                Peter lifted his arms to link his fingers behind his head. "I guess that means I'm your Obi-Wan."

                Stiles snorted. "Help me, Peter Hale, you're my only hope." He dropped onto the couch beside Peter and put his feet on the coffee table, ignoring Peter's raised eyebrow. "What about Smiler or Nike? I don't know if they're working for him anymore, but they may at least be in contact."

                Peter shook his head and pushed at Stiles' legs until he took them off the table. Stiles set his own ankles over Peter's so he couldn't say he was damaging the table.

                "The board?" Stiles asked.

                Peter was busy staring at the ceiling like it would tell him what he'd done to deserve Stiles as a friend. Killed a bunch of people was Stiles' guess.

                "Seriously? Nothing?" Stiles elbowed Peter in the ribs just in case he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. "I thought I was so famous my autograph would open any door for you."

                "Stiles, if I wasn't already a murderer, I swear you'd drive me to it. I told you already the FBI has Keynes. A group of hunters thinks they found Dorian, but they can't actually take her out. The idiot who wanted your autograph heard a rumor Lorrain joined the circus to hide his identity. None of those actually help us."

                Stiles dropped his head against the back of the couch and wondered what he'd done to deserve this. Killed a bunch of people was again Stiles' guess.

                "You're filthy rich, right?"

                "When Derek told me you needed money, I really expected you to come to me sooner. Is it a pride thing? Is it because you don't trust me anymore?"

                "Did I ever trust you?"

                Peter shrugged. "Sara Gregson follows your orders, right?"

                "Even some of the dumb ones."

                "I'll fund her blood magic eye." Before Stiles could get excited or thank him, Peter added, "But I need your help with Lydia."

                Stiles groaned.

                "She could learn more if she would listen to me. More about her powers and more about my child."

                "Fine, fine," Stiles waved a hand. "But I can't guarantee my talking to her will help. Everyone already thinks I'm insane for being friends with you, even Derek, and he's your nephew."

                "Well, I hope you're convincing because you get the money _after._ "

                "I take it back. You're a fucktard, and I'm insane to be friends with you."

                Peter smirked like that was a compliment.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles caught the arrow only an inch from his face with the point hovering just over his eye.

                "You were supposed to dodge," Allison said.

                Stiles shrugged, letting the arrow fall. He hadn't caught it with his hands. Allison hadn't told him to stop training the power Jenneva Cole had forced on him, but she always got twitchy when he used it.

                "Come on," she said, jerking her head toward her car. "If we go now, we can meet Lydia for lunch. Don't make that face."

                Stiles hadn't realized he was making a face but quickly smoothed it away. "I'm not hungry."

                "Yes you are. You've been running almost non-stop for three hours and caught arrows with your brain fourteen times. Brain muscles always make you hungrier than body muscles."

                "Lydia's been teaching you how to out-logic me, hasn't she?"

                Allison raised an eyebrow as she stowed her bow in the trunk. " _Or_ your lies are getting flimsy."

                Climbing into the passenger seat, Stiles grumbled, "Can't we just stop by my place and eat?"

                "Of course. I'll tell Lydia to meet us there."

                Stiles dropped his forehead against the dash and wondered if Allison was doing it on purpose.

                "Is it Peter?" Allison asked. "The reason you're avoiding Lydia?"

                Stiles grunted.

                "He told you what he wanted from her?"

                Stiles made the next grunt slightly less grumpy.

                "And he asked you to convince her to help him?"

                "If you know everything, why bother asking?"

                Allison pulled Stiles by his arm to push him back in his seat then pointed at his seatbelt and refused to start the car until he'd buckled it. "Why not just tell Peter you don't want to?"

                "We're sort of trading favors." Stiles squirmed in his seat. "But I'm not cool with forcing Lydia to spend time with the guy who tortured her."

                "Even if he's one of your best friends?"

                "Being my friend doesn't mean someone's a good person," Stiles pointed out. "And Lydia's one of my best friends too."

                Allison had turned the car around and driven down the dirt road toward the main road into town. She was quiet for a moment while checking for oncoming traffic.

                "What does he want from her now?" she asked at last. "Lydia told him she had everything she could get."

                "He wants her to learn how to use her powers."

                "Learn from him."

                "No one else knows anything about banshees."

                "And what are you getting out of it, Stiles?"

                "Um. Money, technically."

                "Technically."

                "It's for Trick."

                "Uh-huh."

                "For a present for Gregson."

                "If Derek's your boyfriend, why is Peter your sugar daddy?"

                "Low blow, Allison. And if he was a sugar daddy, he wouldn't make me do something for him."

                "Well, I'm pretty sure sugar daddies usually expect sex, and you're sleeping with his nephew."

                "Allison, I am shocked and appalled by this side of you."

                She grinned. "Good. Because I'm shocked and appalled you would agree to help Peter get closer to Lydia after he bit her, left her for dead, wormed his way inside her mind, drove her insane with visions, and forced her to poison her friends and return him from the dead against her will."

                "I've been avoiding her for three days, haven't I?"

                "You still told him you'd do it."

                Stiles dropped his head against the window, half hoping for a concussion. Allison had made her point and left him alone for the rest of the drive to his house.

                Lydia beat them there and stood on the porch with her arms crossed, foot tapping as she waited. She gave Allison a questioning look, and in answer Allison walked over and handed her a five dollar bill. Lydia managed to look smug and disappointed simultaneously and glared that disappointment into Stiles' soul as he slinked by to unlock the door and let the others in.

                "We had a bet about why you'd been avoiding her," Allison explained.

                "Oh, fun." Stiles scowled and began digging through the kitchen for food since he'd invited them over, sort of.

                Lydia tapped her fingers loudly against the counter and cleared her throat. When Stiles looked at her, she widened her eyes expectantly. She maintained the stare, tapping her fingers until Allison leaned over to whisper loudly, "You may owe her an apology."

                "Maybe," Stiles said. "But that might depend on if she's protecting herself or Peter's kid by refusing to help him. Is breakfast for lunch okay? Most of the food I have is eggs."

                "I don't know anything about who the child is, how old it is now, or why Talia took his memory," Lydia said in clipped tones. "I knew you could be an ass, but I never thought you'd side against me with him."

                "I haven't. What he wants is for you to learn to use your powers so you can find out all those things. Technically, I never agreed to make you tell him any of that or to speak to him. We just need to find a way to train you." He didn't look at her as he began beating eggs. He'd started working on a plan on the drive over, but he still didn't know _how_ they could train her. "I trained Scott after he turned without ever having been a werewolf, so why not train a banshee?"

                "And this training would be from the goodness of your black heart?" Lydia asked.

                "Peter's paying me." Maybe being upfront would avoid sugar daddy jokes. Stiles didn't know. He supposed he could just ask Lydia for money too; her family was wealthy.

                Allison found the bacon in the fridge and got a pan out to start frying, apparently bored with watching him cook. Lydia kept her seat at the table.

                "You see that backpack?" Stiles asked. He had an idea and hoped it would fit Lydia's power-set based on what Peter had asked of her. "There's a doll inside. See if you can get anything from it." His father had recognized a car crash linked to coyotes. Maybe Lydia could help him link the two.

                Lydia unzipped the backpack and paused, staring inside. "You want me to touch it?"

                "I don't know how your powers work. Just banshee the thing." He turned away to slice ham into chunks to mix in with the eggs. Allison was still working on the bacon.

                "It's from the car accident," Lydia said, breathless. "There were gunshots. Her mother swerved off the road. She only survived because she shifted into the coyote and fought her way out of the wreckage."

                "That was quick," Stiles said. "Anything else? Her name?"

                Lydia clutched the doll, eyes staring wide at it even though her powers were auditory. She sighed and dropped the doll back into his backpack. "Nothing. That's it."

                "Try again. Lunch isn't ready yet."

                "It's never going to be if you keep staring at me."

                Stiles turned back around to find Allison had finished the bacon. He moved over to cook the eggs in the bacon grease.

                "Why did you even have bacon?" Allison asked. "I thought your dad couldn't eat it."

                "He thinks that's a secret stash. That's why it was underneath the salad."

                "I thought your dad was smart."

                "All men are fools when it comes to bacon," Stiles explained, swiping a piece of bacon and shoving it into his mouth to prove his point.

                He finished with the eggs and served them up, already grinning. The bacon was fucking delicious. Food would taste like food today. Allison and Lydia seemed to sense his mood. They talked about movies and the new shopping center opening up downtown. It would have a movie theater with an IMAX.

                After eating, Allison got her lecturing face on, so Stiles jabbed his finger toward the backpack and stared at Lydia until she rolled her eyes and grabbed the doll again. Stiles left her to it and rummaged through the cupboards to see if his father had hidden away any desserts.

                "I'm not getting anything else," Lydia said.

                "Me neither," Stiles sighed.

                "Stiles."

                "Do you wanna try meditating? It's infuriating and relaxing in equal parts."

                "No." Lydia nearly tossed the doll down again, so Stiles hurried over and pushed it back into her hand.

                "You said before there were gunshots. Can you hear what kind of gun?"

                "Can people hear types of gun?"

                "Maybe. You're not people. Just try."

                Lydia closed her eyes again. "There are two of them, but only one shooter."

                "Can you describe the shooter?"

                Lydia pursed her lips in concentration. "She wants something."

                "So it's a woman?"

                "Yes, but not a human one. I think she's the coyote's mother."

                "You said her mother was driving."

                Lydia's eyes snapped open. "The driver raised her. The shooter birthed her. Happy?"

                "Sorry, yeah. Do you know why she's shooting? Is she shooting at the car or something else?"

                Lydia's fingers tightened around the doll. "At the car, at the coyote inside. She's trying to kill her own daughter."

                "Can you hear their names?"

                "Evelyn Tate died in the car."

                "And the coyotes?"

                Lydia opened her eyes again and raised her eyebrows. "...aren't dead."

                "I meant their names."

                "Stiles, I hear _dead_ people."

                "Oh."

                "Evelyn Tate should give you somewhere to start. Ask your dad about it. The police should have records. The doll belonged to the younger daughter. The older one is growling at us right now." She nodded behind Stiles with her eyes wide.

                Stiles turned to find the coyote outside the window. Allison swore, pulling out her throwing knives. She'd left her bow in the car. The coyote hurled herself at the kitchen door, smashing it in and ripping the hinges from the wall. She stalked forward. The fur bristled on her back.

                Allison pushed Stiles and Lydia back. The werecoyote advanced.

                "I think she wants this back," Lydia whispered.

                "We're not done with it," Stiles insisted.

                "We're done with it," Allison said. She snatched the doll from Lydia's grasp and tossed it across the kitchen. The coyote caught it gently between her jaws and turned away, content.


	2. Howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote part of this chapter to palfallal's Watchtower playlist on 8tracks. The first song is Glory and Gore by Lorde, which I once heard on the radio, thought, "damn this is watchtower 100%," and promptly forgot. Now I know what it is. :D I added as many songs as were available with prime to my regular writing playlist on amazon too. (link: http://8tracks.com/palfallal/watchtower)

Stiles' dad stalked back and forth, his shoes tramping a path across the carpet. "You should have been with him." He jabbed a finger at Derek, who only raised an eyebrow.

                "Allison and Lydia are great bodyguards, and I can do _this_." Stiles lifted the coffee table and smashed it to pieces against the wall.

                His father froze. He stared at the splinters and chunks of wood on the floor. The table had left a gash in the wall.

                Stiles pulled the pieces back together, every piece, and fit them exactly as they had been before, like it had never broken. As far as the table was concerned—as far as tables could be concerned—it had never been broken.

                His father's head jerked to the side. He stared at the table. It was whole. Derek set his glass back on it. It didn't shatter or fall. It wasn't broken.

                Stiles had been practicing.

                "You said Evelyn Tate?" his father asked at last.

                "Yeah. We need the name of her older daughter. That's the coyote."

                His father nodded absently and turned away. Paused. Turned back. His shoulders were stiff. His jaw clenched. "Son, sometimes you terrify me, but I love you." He turned again and left.

                Derek prodded at the coffee table first with his sneaker, then leaning forward to pick at it with his finger. "I didn't realize you'd gotten so strong," he said at last.

                "It's stronger when I'm angry."

                "He just worries."

                "I know. He should take it out on me, not you."

                Derek shook his head, smiling despite himself. "I only need you to protect me as much as you need me to protect you." He leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Stiles lips. "But that's sweet."

                Stiles pulled himself around to straddle Derek just as his father walked back into the room.

                "Oh my God," Stiles' father complained. "I'm going to the station to look up the Tates' crash. Try to control yourselves until I'm gone."

                Stiles laughed into Derek's shoulder to spare his father. Once the door was shut, he slid down between Derek's knees, smirking.

                "Can you lift me?" Derek asked.

                "Seriously? I'm about to suck your cock, and you want to ask about my superpowers instead?"

                Derek shrugged.

                "Did we switch places? Are you Stiles now?" Stiles grinned as he said it though, knowing he'd have asked too. He focused on Derek, trying to lift him as he had the table, and grunted in effort without making any progress. "I'm not even close to lifting you."

                "Weakling." Derek tousled his hair. "Blow me."

                "'Bout time."

 

**~.x.~**

Lydia pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. She eyed Stiles for a moment before stepping aside to let him enter her house. He didn't see her mother, but let Lydia led him silently to her room anyway.

                The instant she had the door shut, Lydia rounded on Stiles. "If this is about Peter Hale—"

                "There are about twenty missing persons reports scattered over my Dad's desk," Stiles interrupted because this was absolutely about Peter Hale.

                Lydia tilted her head to eye him suspiciously. "And?"

                "And what if they're not just missing? What if they're dead?"

                "You want me to find them."

                Stiles nodded. "We know it's within your power because you've done it before, but you don't know how, right?"

                "No," Lydia admitted. "I don't know how."

                "But if we figure it out, we might be able to help."

                "And who is it we're supposed to be helping?"

                "Everyone," Stiles grumbled. He'd taken pictures of the missing persons when his dad wasn't watching and pulled one up now to shove in Lydia's face.

                "This is one of them?" she asked, taking the phone from his hand. She sat down at the edge of the bed staring at the photo without waiting for an answer. After a moment, Lydia shook her head. "I'm not getting anything from it."

                "Try scrolling through the others."

                Lydia swiped her finger across the screen. She spent a moment with each photo but held the phone out to Stiles with a shake of her head before long. "I don't know, Stiles."

                "We could try driving around. That's worked for you before, right?"

                "I guess." She bit her lip. "Stiles, I don't want to find another body."

                Stiles tugged at the zipper on his hoodie, not sure what to say. "We could try something else," he said. He didn't see how she could avoid bodies. She was a banshee in a pack linked to a vengeful nemeton.

                "No, I want to help. I just wish I could find them _before_ they were killed instead of after."

                "You will," Stiles said. "Banshees are supposed to predict death, right? So eventually, you'll know ahead of time."

                "You can't be sure of that."

                Stiles shrugged. He thinned his lips, thinking that he knew someone else who _could_ be sure.

                "No," Lydia snapped.

                "What? I didn't say anything."

                "We're not asking Peter for help." She stormed past him and grabbed her keys off her dresser.

                Stiles followed Lydia to her car. She sat behind the wheel, breathing deeply, and turned the key in the ignition. She set her hands against the wheel at ten and two and... sat there.

                "We can go," Stiles suggested.

                "Shut up. I don't know where to go."

                "Just try driving around?"

                She put the car into reverse and pulled out of the driveway. "So is your theory that I can subconsciously access my power through something like automatic writing?" She took a left turn at the stop sign.

                "You used to draw the nemeton, right? Before you guys found it."

                "And sacrificed ourselves to it. Yeah. Sometimes I think that wasn't our best decision."

                "But it saved your parents."

                "Yes," Lydia agreed. "But that's not all it did."

                "I know about the darkness."

                "I think it did more than that," Lydia admitted, pulling a sharp u-turn.

                "Like what?"

                "Our sacrifice gave it power, but power over what? Power to do what? It's a beacon, I know, but why call the supernatural to it unless it serves some purpose."

                "You've been worrying about this a lot," Stiles noted.

                "I've been having nightmares," Lydia said, turning right. "I've never been afraid of going to the doctor, but I can't shake these dreams."

                "About doctors?"

                "Promise not to laugh."

                "I will make no such promise, and you know it."

                Lydia spared only a short glare for Stiles so she could focus on the road. "They're like evil steampunk doctors."

                Stiles didn't laugh. "That doesn't mean anything to me."

                "Me neither. I don't know why I'm so afraid of them. There are three of them, and they wear masks, like gas masks or helmets."

                The car stopped. Lydia turned to Stiles. "You're not acting like they're just silly dreams," she noted.

                "That's because you're not. Do you think the doctors are real?"

                "I don't know what to think." Her voice became small and afraid. "But I know, if they are real, the doctors are hurting people."

                Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt, and Lydia gave a little jump. She looked around as if unaware of where she'd brought them. It was the water treatment plant.

                "Let's look around," Stiles said, opening the door and climbing out.

                Lydia followed, and he let her take the lead as they explored the tunnels. She trailed a hand along the pipes lining the walls. The place stank of chemicals.

                Stiles worked his shoulders to relieve the tension. He expected someone, or something, to leap out at them from around every corner. The lights were dim, and Stiles could only hear the echoing of his and Lydia's footsteps.

                _Are you okay?_ Derek thought. Stiles agitation had carried to him through the bond.

                _Fine. With Lydia._

                Derek accepted Stiles' terse assurance and returned to his own thoughts for the moment.

                "Were you just talking to Derek?" Lydia asked.

                "Yeah," Stiles squinted, trying to determine how Lydia had known. People accused him of a vacant expression sometimes, but she was walking ahead of him.

                "I think I can hear it. Not what you're saying, just that you're saying it." She peered absently down the next turn.

                "Sorokin had a device that could read when we were communicating. Maybe it's like psychic sound waves?"

                "Speaking of evil doctors," Lydia said.

                "Oh, crap, you're not getting distorted nightmares from us, are you?"

                Lydia shook her head. "I don't think so. I feel like Sorokin and Cole would look different in your brain than these doctors do."

                "What does that mean?"

                "Just what I said. Have you seen that snake carving before? I think we're going in circles."

                Stiles studied the image of a snake eating its own tail raised from the surface of the wall. "Yeah, but I figured there were a bunch of them. Is it some kind of logo?"

                "How should I know?" Lydia demanded.

                "You could try touching it."

                "I'm a banshee, not a psychic."

                "Maybe banshees _are_ psychic. We don't know."

                Lydia spun on her heel and stormed away.

                "Wait, Lydia. Don't just—fuck."

                They weren't alone. A man had stepped into the hall with them. Even from a distance, Stiles could see the stingers protruding from his arms. His eyes flashed.

                Derek dropped what he was doing and ran to join Stiles, but he was nowhere near the water treatment plant. He wouldn't arrive soon enough to help.

                Stiles grabbed Lydia and ran. He didn't know where they were going. Every time he looked back, the man was closer. He turned a corner, towing Lydia along, and nearly plowed into a young woman. She had dark hair, a square jaw, and long claws. Her eyes flashed.

                "Behind me," she snapped.

                Stiles obeyed readily.

                The man chasing them arrived only seconds later, and Stiles saw he was only a teenager, at least two or three years younger than Stiles.

                "You don't want to fight me," the young woman guarding them said. "We've been there before, remember?"

                He growled, backing away. She took a step forward. He charged. Stiles stunned him. The young woman made short work of her frozen opponent.

                "That was one of you, right?" she asked when he was down. "You stopped him somehow?"

                Stiles nodded.

                "You're not down here by accident then. Are you with them?"

                "We don't even know who they are. For that matter, we don't know who _you_ are."

                "I'm the one who just saved your lives. Lucas' venom is fatal to humans." She eyed them up and down, probably deciding whether they were human.

                "You're Hayden, right?" Lydia said. The young woman jerked in recognition at the name. "We went to highschool together. I was a junior when you were a freshman. My name is Lydia."

                Hayden nodded. "Lydia Martin. I remember you." She turned to Stiles and studied the tattoo under his eye. "You're the sheriff's son."

                "Stiles. Yeah."

                "You should get out of here," Hayden said. "Lucas isn't the only one looking."

                "Looking for what?" Stiles asked.

                Hayden shook her head. "It's safer if you don't know. Just go."

                "We're not some random kids who wandered in here," Stiles said, "and clearly neither are you. Maybe we can help each other."

                "For that, I'd have to trust you, and I don't." Hayden turned away. "You better hope the next chimera you run into isn't Tracy because I just ran out of patience to see you out."

                "I think we should leave," Lydia said.

                "But this has to be the right spot. She said they're looking for something here."

                Lydia nodded. "Yeah, but she didn't kill Lucas, and he's getting up."

                Lucas grunted, pushing his weight off the floor.

                "Right. We should tell the others anyway," Stiles agreed. They edged past Lucas and managed to find their way out. They caught sight of distant figures a few times, but no one chased after them as Lucas had.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles' dad rushed out the door as they arrived. He shouted something about work before Stiles could tell him how he'd almost been mauled tonight. Probably for the best. Derek loomed over Stiles' shoulder, glaring in every direction like he expected chimeras to leap out of the woodwork and attack. They called in the rest of the pack. While they waited, Stiles set up a video chat with Scott, using the television in the living room.

                "I should be worried, huh?" Scott asked as he watched the pack file into the Stilinskis' living room.

                "There's something going on," Stiles said. "Do you know what a chimera is?"

                "It's a creature made from incongruous parts, why?"

                "I think we just met some," Lydia said.

                Scott asked, "You met a mythical chimera or a genetic chimera?"

                Stiles held up his hands, unsure. "There was a dude with scorpion stingers in his arms and a girl who was basically a werewolf so far as I could tell, but she called them chimeras."

                "I shouldn't have left," Scott said. "I'll come back."

                "We don't even know if they're a threat yet," Lydia said. "Hayden helped us. She's one of the chimeras."

                "We can handle this," Allison insisted as she took a seat beside Lydia. "We just want to keep you in the loop."

                "I don't want anyone to get hurt," Scott said.

                "Which is why you're studying to be a veterinarian," Allison said. "So keep studying. We'll take care of Beacon Hills until you're done."

                "Now we just need to figure out how to do that," Cat said.

                "I think we should go back," Stiles said. "Lydia and I left because we realized we needed backup. You all count as backup."

                Derek shook his head. "Something we don't understand is happening. Adding this to everything else spreads us too thin."

                "We can't ignore it," Stiles insisted. "People could be hurt. People could get hurt."

                "I'm not sure we can stop that," Lydia said. "We ran scared at the sight of Lucas, remember? You have powers, and I can sense death, and we ran without a second thought."

                Stiles said, "I don't like stingers."

                Lydia rolled her eyes. "That's an excuse."

                "You were afraid," Derek said. "You saw them as a threat."

                "Thanks, Der," Stiles spat.

                "We would have died if we stayed," Lydia said.

                "Are you saying that as a worried friend or as a banshee?" Stiles asked.

                "Banshee. We wouldn't have been the first to die there." Her brow furrowed as she bit at her lip.

                Scott said, "Stiles is right though. We can't do nothing if there's a chance we can save lives."

                "There are more of us than are sitting here," Stiles said. Only Derek, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Cat, and Isaac were part of this conversation with Stiles. "And we have allies out of town who we can call in."

                "But the other people in town right now are all human, except for Peter, who no one with any sense trusts," Isaac pointed out. "And it will take time for anyone else to get here."

                "If they agree to come," Lydia added.

                "Allison, you and Isaac can scout the... you guys didn't say where you saw the chimeras," Scott said.

                "Water treatment plant," Lydia told him.

                "Right, you two scout it out tomorrow. Don't fight anyone. If you're in any danger, get out of there."

                Allison and Isaac nodded.

                "Derek and Cat, continue patrolling. Don't bother the coyote unless she hurts someone. Maybe we can put off confronting her until the chimeras are under control. Keep an eye out for them."

                Cat rolled her eyes, probably because that's what she would have done anyway. Derek nodded.

                "Stiles, what were you and Lydia doing at the water treatment plant?"

                "Trying to banshee," Stiles answered, caught off guard because he'd expected instructions.

                "What?"

                "I was trying to help Lydia learn to control her powers. We were looking for the missing persons reported to the police."

                Scott shook his head. "Be careful next time. Bring backup. And call your friends from Watchtower. See who can join us. See if Danny will agree to call Ethan. If not, Lydia, try your luck with Aidan."

                Lydia said, "While we're planning to talk to people, could I try Hayden?"

                "How?" Scott asked.

                "She's a junior at the high school. I think I can catch her between classes."

                "Oh. Yeah. That's great. Be careful."

                Stiles pulled out his phone to text Gregson about contacting her squad members. He had a text notification he hadn't noticed before and opened it. "Peter responded," he said to get the others' attention. "He hasn't heard of any actual chimeras but says he'll look into it and contact me tomorrow. Has anyone talked to Deaton?"

                No one had. "I'll take care of it," Scott said.

                "No, I will," Derek volunteered. "You have enough on your plate."

                Scott nodded reluctantly. "Lydia, do you think you can find those people?"

                Lydia hesitated but nodded. "I think I need more to go on than their photos though."

                "I'll talk to my dad," Stiles said. "We'll find something."

                "I have to go," Scott said. "Be careful. Help is coming." He exited the chat.

                Stiles picked at the fabric of his shirt. The others trickled out to get some rest before beginning to work the next day. Derek put an arm around Stiles shoulders and tugged him closer. When they were alone, he planted a kiss on top of Stiles head.

                "Let's go to bed," Derek said.

                "Why are you so calm?" Stiles asked.

                Derek considered for a moment before saying, "I trust our pack. We can handle this. We've handled worse."

                Stiles nodded. He let Derek lead him to bed.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles showed up at Lydia's door the next day. He wound up sitting on her porch for a few hours waiting for her to decide to head out to the high school. When she finally opened the door to leave, she stopped and studied him for several seconds longer than necessary and raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'There were at least five easier ways of getting to go with me.' Stiles ignored her eyebrow and waved cheerfully.

                "Come on," Lydia sighed, unlocking her car.

                At the school, they waited in the parking lot. Stiles felt like a creeper, or maybe like Derek.

                _I heard that,_ Derek thought.

                Stiles imagined sticking his tongue at Derek and tried not to focus on how long it had been since he'd gone to school here. He never graduated with his friends.

                "How do you know Hayden still goes here?" Stiles asked.

                "Her sister can't afford Devenford Prep, and nowhere else is close enough."

                "Who is her sister?"

                "Valerie Clarke."

                "Isn't she a deputy?"

                Lydia nodded. Stiles got the sudden feeling he should know Hayden, but he didn't spend as much time around the station as he used to.

                "There she is," Lydia said, opening her door. Stiles scrambled to follow.

                They hurried after Hayden as she turned a corner toward the lacrosse field. As they approached, she spun, eyes flashing. "What do you want?"

                No one was nearby. Hayden had noticed them following and led them to an isolated area where she could shred them to her angry little heart's content.

                "We want to help," Lydia said.

                "No, you don't."

                "We want to understand," Stiles tried.

                "You really, really don't."

                "Look, we're part of the pack that's supposed to protect this town. We can't do that if we don't know what's going on." Stiles held up his hands, hoping Hayden would somehow understand.

                "Theo never mentioned another pack," Hayden said.

                "Theo?" Lydia asked just as Stiles demanded, " _Another_ pack?"

                Hayden worked her jaw, pulling her eyes away from them to look at the ground. "You guys are the real deal then? Part of a real werewolf pack?"

                Stiles nodded. "Though neither of us is a werewolf, actually."

                Hayden gave him the look most people used when they said just his name to scold him. Before she could say anything, he asked, "So are you guys a chimera pack? Are you actually allies with that Lucas guy?"

                "The Doctors say we're failures. I don't know what a success would look like."

                "Doctors?" Lydia's voice trembled, if softly. "Do they wear masks?"

                "Have you seen them?" Hayden stepped forward, her voice becoming both quieter and more insistent.

                "Not in person."

                "Then you're not one of us, and you should keep your distance." Hayden stepped back again and crossed her arms.

                Stiles said, "You never explained who Theo is."

                "He's our leader. He was the first chimera."

                "So he's your alpha," Stiles said.

                "Basically. He's the only one who can talk to the Doctors."

                Lydia asked, "Why?"

                "Because they want the rest of us dead. They say failure compromises the experiment pool."

                Another voice spoke from behind Stiles and Lydia, "You shouldn't be talking to them, Hayden."

                Stiles turned to find a man his own age. He was handsome except for the arrogance apparent in his posture. Something about his face tugged at Stiles' memory. He tried to imagine him younger, less of an asshole. "Theo Raeken?"

                Theo smirked. "The one and only. I didn't think you'd remember me, Stiles."

                Stiles had known Theo in fourth grade. Except that he wore an older version of the same face, he didn't seem to have anything in common with the boy Stiles remembered. They had been friends.

                "They want to help," Hayden said.

                "They can't." He eyed Stiles and Lydia. "They have their own problems, so they should stay out of ours." His eyes flashed gold. Gold eyes had stopped scaring Stiles years ago.

                "Are you trying to scare us off?" Stiles asked. he turned to Lydia. "I think they're trying to scare us off."

                Lydia raised her eyebrows and let her eyes wander the stands, obviously content to let Stiles continue with whatever he thought he was doing.

                "We don't scare easily," Stiles continued. "And we won't let people be hurt when we could have stopped it. Let us help. Maybe we can protect you from these Doctors."

                Theo laughed outright at that. "Under different circumstances, Stiles, I'd want you in my pack, but it's not going to work right now. Stay out of our way. And before you try to force in some vague threat about the power you have or the things you've faced, I know about your talismans and Watchtower. I know they call you Joker. I know Lydia is a banshee. I know about the alpha pack, the darach, the nemeton, and the nogitsune. I know Scott is a true alpha, and I know Derek is a second alpha in his pack. I know you can't help."

                Stiles froze, as stunned as anyone affected by his talisman. Theo knew everything. _How_ did Theo know everything?

                "And we're not the only two packs in Beacon County," Theo added as he turned away and left them staring at his back.

                "I'd take his word," Hayden said. "He has a way of making sure he comes out on top."

                "Hayden," Lydia said before Hayden could stalk after Theo. "If you want our help on your own, even against Theo, we're here for that too, okay?"

                Hayden scowled but didn't turn them down. She left them standing by the lacrosse field with no more idea how to help her than before.

**~.x.~**

Stiles' dad was home when Stiles got back. Stiles could hear him bumbling around in his room. He'd never come home the night before. When Stiles left for Lydia's, the house had still been empty except for him and Derek.

                "You gonna sleep?" Stiles asked through the door. He'd planned to call Gregson and set up contacting the others, but if his dad had been up all night, he wouldn't need the noise, especially given how much Stiles had been annoying Gregson lately. Too high a chance of shouting.

                "No." The door opened. Stiles dad was fully dressed and freshly shaved. "I just stopped by to eat and clean up. You ate my bacon."

                "What bacon? You're not allowed bacon."

                "I'm allowed whatever I want." He moved to walk past Stiles and leave, but Stiles caught his arm.

                "Dad, what happened?"

                "Stiles, it might be better if you don't ask."

                "That doesn't dissuade me in the least, and you know it."

                His father sighed. "Animal attacks."

                "Werewolf attacks?"

                "I don't know yet. That's why I didn't want to tell you."

                Stiles tightened his grip on his father's arm and leaned forward. "Dad, if there's even a chance it's supernatural, you have to tell us. Your deputies aren't trained to handle monsters."

                "I know, Stiles. I just want to protect you."

                "Protect me by keeping me informed enough to protect myself and my pack. Were they assault or homicide?"

                "You're impossible," his father answered, but with another sigh, he added, "Both. We have multiple attacks, only one survivor. The weird part is the most recent attack, the one she survived, was the least severe."

                "If you're not sure whether they're supernatural, does that mean the wounds match those that could be made by an actual animal instead of a werewolf's claws and teeth?"

                "Some of them. Right now it looks like a wolf, except that, shapeshifters aside, there are no wolves in California."

                "What about a coyote?" Stiles asked.

                "I guess so."

                "Fine. You said, 'some of them.' What's that supposed to mean?"

                His dad shook his head. "What it sounds like. If I didn't know better, I'd say there was a whole host of different monsters attacking people."

                "There might be," Stiles said. "We recently learned about a group calling themselves chimeras. I don't know what that means, but one of them has scorpion stingers that grow out of his arms."

                "Out of his arms? How does that even work?"

                Stiles lifted his hands, at a loss. "I guess it would have made more sense for him to grow a tail like a kanima."

                "Is that the bone one?"

                "No, that's a berserker. Kanima is the lizard one."

                "I'm going to work," his father announced, obviously at a loss.

                "I'll have Derek protect me from mauling," Stiles promised, waving. He waited until his father was gone to contact Derek through their bond.

                _Derek, we need to talk to the coyote._

_I thought we were waiting._ Derek was running, probably through the woods. He'd taken to jogging with Cat during most of his free time. They just called it patrolling because they got to see a lot of the woods and it made the others think their fun was important.

                _She may have attacked someone. Or lots of someones. Or no one._

Derek growled, and Stiles half-felt it in his own throat. _I'll meet you by her car. She's there a lot. I think her den is nearby, but we stopped looking._

_Be right there._ Stiles grabbed his hoodie but stopped halfway to the door. He thought it was the chimeras, but what if he was wrong? Or what if she was just angry about the doll? Stiles turned back and dug his Watchtower coat out of the back of the closet. He pulled his knives out of his desk, fitting them into the built-in sheathes and slid into the coat. He hadn't worn it in months, hadn't needed the protection. The leather was thicker than the weather called for, but it was still soft and flexible. The coat had been designed for fighting in.

                Stiles called Scott on the way there and filled him in briefly, but there wasn't much to say yet except that they still didn't know anything. Theo Raeken returning to Beacon Hills as a chimera beta/alpha caught Scott by surprise. He seemed to think Theo would make working with the chimeras easier and dismissed Stiles' doubts as 'being paranoid.' By the time Stiles reached the road by the old wreck, he was tired of arguing and told Scott he had to go.

                Derek met him as soon as he climbed out of the Jeep. He eyed the coat with hard eyes but didn't say anything. He didn't even think anything very loudly.

                "Where's Cat?" Stiles asked.

                "Not far, but she figured we could handle a disgruntled coyote on our own."

                Stiles shrugged and headed toward the tree line. "So which way do you think?"

                Derek pointed. "About twenty yards. I found it while waiting for you. She's not there."

                "Then where is she?"

                Derek pointed again, this time more to the right. "About half the distance, watching us. I don't think she likes us being here."

                "Oh, well, at least finding her was easy."

                Derek snorted. "We've been trying to talk to her from the start, but she refuses to shift back."

                "Why?"

                "How the hell should I know?"

                "Does our talking not bother her?"

                Derek shook her head. "She seems to like listening. Cat and I have kept her interest for as long as ten minutes before she ran off, so long as we don't try to get closer. We started running into her more and more, and I don't think that's an accident."

                "But she can still understand us in coyote form, right?"

                Derek looked on the verge of saying something insulting, so Stiles continued without waiting.

                "Then I should mention people have been getting hurt. I don't think it's her, but if she knows anything, or can at least say it wasn't her, that would be a big help."

                Derek raised an eyebrow. "Is that your play?"

                Stiles shrugged. He watched the coyote as best he could, though the underbrush hid her well, especially when she stayed still. Her eyes didn't glow now, but Stiles remembered they were blue. Even if she seemed calm, she had it in her to kill. Well, so did he.

                "Wouldn't it just be easier to talk to us? Is she trying to hide her secret identity? For that matter, how has she stayed hidden all this time? Why doesn't anyone know she survived the crash?"

                The coyote squirmed but didn't leave.

                "Derek, is it possible she _can't_ shift back?"

                Derek hadn't considered it. He nodded. Nothing of the coyote's scent said whether Stiles had figured her out.

                _There is a way to force the shift,_ Derek thought, certain the coyote would run if he said this aloud. _An alpha's roar can do it._

Stiles nodded but sensed Derek's hesitation. _Why don't you want to do it?_

_It's..._ Derek struggled for the words before inviting Stiles deeper to simply show him. Derek had lost too many choices. He'd pushed Erica and Boyd into choosing his pack, and it had gotten them killed. Sometimes he still doubted he'd chosen Stiles of his own free will. Stiles flinched back at that part, but Derek put an arm around him. _Only sometimes,_ he promised. _No one can be perfect all the time._

                Stiles took a deep breath. _It's temporary, right? I think you should do it._

That was enough for Derek. He dropped his arm from Stiles' shoulders and advanced, eyes glowing red. The coyote flinched back, turning to run as he approached, but Derek roared. Stiles felt the roar vibrate through him deeper than any bass. It sparked in his bones, and he felt a need surge forward at its call, the need to change. Power rushed through him, activating his talismans aimlessly. Bark stripped from the trees nearest him. Dirt rose around him in a whirlwind. The ground pushed away from his feet, or he pushed off of it. Topsoil rushed away with the force of his push. The hard stone beneath if split with a crack that echoed through the forest, echoed through Stiles' chest. He fell. Dirt fell. Rocks and bark fell. Stiles blinked dirt and power from his eyes.

                Derek had turned back around to stare, wide-eyed at strength he hadn't seen since he rushed Stiles home after Cole scarred him. There wasn't a coyote, but a naked woman stood behind Derek, frozen between staring and running. Derek had a grip on her wrist. She had long hair and pretty brown eyes, bloodshot and wide.

                "What was that?" she whispered.

                Stiles opened his mouth to say he didn't know, but the edges of his vision went dark. He lost sight of the woman. He lost sight of Derek.

**~.x.~**

Stiles woke in his own bed in Derek's arms. Derek ran his fingers through Stiles' hair gently and shushed him when he tried to stir. He cradled Stiles against his chest, worrying too much. Stiles put an arm around him. He hadn't been in bed before, he knew. The woods. They had found the coyote. Derek forced her to shift with his howl.

                Derek's howl had forced something in Stiles too.

                _It's okay,_ Stiles assured him. _It's not your fault._

                Barely moving, Derek shook his head. It was little more than a single twitch to the side. Stiles had been overcome by that power before. He was trying to use it more now, but in controlled amounts. Derek had pushed him into it. Stiles had lost himself again because of Derek.

                _No._ Stiles set his palm against Derek's cheek. _No, nothing is your fault._

Derek remembered the moment he knew something was wrong. He had roared and watched the coyote transform into a young woman, but her startled eyes had locked behind him. Derek knew before he turned, felt a torrent surging through Stiles. He heard the wind circling him, rocks and dirt clashing together in a storm. When he turned, Stiles didn't even see him. His eyes gazed unfocused at the destruction around him, shredded trees and earth crashing around him, echoing the roar still in his chest. The heart tattoo on Derek's arm burned.

                Then Stiles fell. All that had surrounded him fell with him, coating him in shredded pieces of the forest. He opened his mouth and stalled. He collapsed.

                _Stop,_ Stiles ordered. _I'm sorry I scared you. I'm fine now._

                It only made Derek mad that Stiles apologized. Stiles pushed Derek back. _You don't get to take blame. It happened. It's not anyone's fault. No one was hurt._

                Though he couldn't see her, Stiles heard Cat say, "I think it's safe. They're brain-talking again."

                Lydia walked through the door then. Stiles remembered what he'd done last time he lost himself to the club talisman's power.

                Lydia settled herself on the corner of the bed, studying them. She twirled a lock of strawberry-blonde hair in her fingers. "I think only Stiles is talking. Derek was doing something else."

                Derek jerked, startled.

                "Can you _hear_ that?" Stiles asked.

                Lydia nodded, pursing her lips. "I heard something earlier too, like roaring wind."

                Stiles glanced at Derek. He wondered if the others would see it like Derek did or like Stiles wanted them to.

                "I already spoke to Derek and Malia both," Lydia said. "We know what happened."

                Like Derek did, then.

                "Malia?"

                "The coyote. She's not exactly grateful to be human again, but she cooperated. Your dad contacted her father and sent her home."

                Melissa gently pulled Derek away from Stiles then. Stiles hadn't noticed her entering the room. She took Stiles' pulse and checked his pupil dilation and temperature. "How do you feel?" She asked only when she was done.

                "Fine." Stiles shrugged to work his shoulders. "A bit stiff, probably from lying here."

                Stiles scanned the room but didn't spot anyone else. "What are you doing here?" he asked Lydia. Cat had been nearby and could have heard something with her superhuman senses. Melissa, they would have called to check on him. Lydia had no reason to be there.

                "I knew something was wrong. I felt it when I heard that wind."

                "Does that mean we were in danger? Don't banshees sense death specifically?" Stiles hoped she would deny it, for Derek's sake if nothing else.

                "I don't know. Your bond with Derek isn't fatal, but I can hear something from that. Maybe there's more to it than most banshees let on." She seemed about to say more but stopped herself. "You should eat. Allison says using your talismans burn a lot of calories."

                She stood and studied Stiles for a moment before turning away. Stiles wondered what she saw. She hadn't seemed afraid he would hurt her, though she'd waited for Cat to call before entering the room. On her way out, Lydia paused and set her hand against the red leather of Stiles' coat before finally leaving.

**~.x.~**

Trick called Stiles to their apartment. After he knocked, they tugged Stiles through the door so quickly they must have been waiting for him and hissed, “You’re paying extra for making me work in my time off, but we couldn’t do this in the parlor.”

                “Off the books? Sounds fun. Very illicit.”

                “It’s literally blood magic, dumbass.” They shoved Stiles farther into the room and slammed the door. Nothing looked unusual, but Trick turned the deadbolt and slid in the chain to keep anyone from entering.

                “You are acting shady as hell, Trick. Is this shit darker than you led on?” Stiles knew video games generally targeted blood magic as evil, but he and Trick had been doing it for a while. None of his tattoos seemed very evil to him, and Trick was proud of their work. Or had been.

                “There are people who want you dead or under their control. Or both. I’m not sure of Watchtower’s stance on necromancy. What we’re doing here will be minor shit, technically, but it’s going to create something they could use. I’ve tried to buy everything I needed from different places and paid in cash as much as possible. I’m still assuming they know, and I do not want them barging in here and killing me to take it as soon as Sara’s stupid eye is done.”

                “It’s not stupid, and a locked door won’t keep them out.”

                “Not helping.”

                Stiles shrugged. “I don’t think Sorokin is in town, and he’s the only one who cares about me personally.”

                “Even if they only care when you’re convenient, you may be convenient to whoever is here for Dumbo.”

                “How do you know about Dumbo?”

                “We’re friends, jackass. Sit down.”

                Stiles dropped himself onto the couch. A dark wood box carved with a pattern of circles sat on the coffee table where Trick usually rested their feet. Beside it was a kitchen knife with a yellow and green ribbon tied around the handle and a ceramic saucer. Trick opened the box and pulled out a glass eye that they moved to the saucer. The eye had a black spot at its center. A spiral ran outward from the pupil, speckled like the light of planets and stars from a distant galaxy in shades of blue with brighter points of pale yellow.

                Trick had already set out a towel, alcohol pads, antibiotic ointment, and bandage. They knelt on the floor between Stiles and the coffee table, locking their eyes with Stiles’.

“This is your last chance,” Trick said. “Doing this is a mistake.”

“Gregson deserves better, but this is what I can do.”

Trick shook their head but lifted the knife and set the handle in the palm of Stiles’ right hand. They held out Stiles’ left hand over the saucer.

"I thought you already had my blood."

"Yeah, and I used it."

"And why the knife? Why not just draw it like last time?"

Trick scowled. "The pain is part of the sacrifice."

“Oh. Are there magic words or something?” Stiles asked.

“Magic is belief and intent. You and I don't work in spells.”

Stiles shrugged his acceptance but muttered, "Still feels like some kind of cult ritual. 'The pain is part of the sacrifice.'" He drew the blade across his palm to spill blood over the eye, careful not to let any fall outside the saucer.

_Sight and understanding,_ he thought, focusing on perceiving the supernatural. He pictured Gregson with her prosthetic eye replaced with the one in front of him. She could see power, could see what made werewolves different from humans. She could see auras.

“Deeper,” Trick said. “That's not enough blood.”

Stiles winced. He depended the cut. The knife slid through the meat of his hand smoothly. In his mind’s eye, Gregson could see his power, the power that took her eye.

Blood slid down the smooth glass of the prosthetic eye and pooled in the saucer. Stiles squeezed his hand shut around the pain of the gash he'd left. Blood dropped between his fingers. Trick hadn't set out a needle for stitches. Stiles focused on Gregson and the power she wanted.

Trick set their hand over Stiles’, bloodying their fingers. Their will aligned with Stiles. Sight for Sara Gregson’s stolen eye, granted by intent, belief, and blood. In crafting his tattoo talismans, Stiles had felt Trick’s intent align with his through the magic set in his skin. That, he realized, had been weak magic. Here, with his blood coating both their fingers, Stiles felt Trick's mind almost as strongly as Derek's, easily as strongly as he had once unknowingly felt Peter's. Their will, their power, poured into the glass eye. Their magic filled and changed it.

                Trick used the towel to wipe what blood they could from Stiles’ hand and cleaned the cut with the alcohol pads. It slowed bleeding without pressure thanks to his healing talisman, a negative-space galaxy diamond covering half his torso. Trick spread the ointment over the cut and wrapped the bandage around Stiles’ palm.

                “Is that it?” Stiles asked.

                Trick nodded. “You should rest. I'll clean up.”

                They carried the eye and saucer to the kitchen, and Stiles leaned back on the couch, letting his eyes fall shut. He listened to Trick moving around, running water, and setting things down. He didn't sleep but tried to think healing thoughts. After some time, Trick’s weight dropped onto the couch beside him. Opening his eyes, he found them holding out a glass of orange juice. Stiles accepted and sipped at it, holding the glass in his uninjured hand.

                “Peter Hale called me,” Trick said in an appropriately incredulous tone. “So I know you can't pay me.”

                “I _will._ I just--”

                “Shut up and give Peter your thanks or a blow job or whatever you two do. He's got it.”

                “Oh. Yeah.” Stiles fidgeted. He hadn't really gotten what Peter wanted from Lydia and wondered if that meant Peter would expect him to agree to give more now.

                “It's not a blow job, is it?”

                “Shit, no.” Stiles grimaced.

                Trick shrugged. “You can get out now.”

                Stiles would have thanked them for the gracious send off, but he focused instead on the carved darkwood box Trick shoved into his hands on his way out the door. It weighed very little, but he felt it pulling at him. There was power in that box, power at its strongest against him.

**~.x.~**

Dumbo stared at the ceiling like it was the camera in the Office. "Just call me an idiot and be done with it. I'm bored." He practically whined as he spoke and followed the words with a sigh to make any over-acted, over-dramatic teenager in a bad drama movie proud.

                Gregson massaged her temples. After a long moment, she muttered, "Eddie, I'm going to kill you if he doesn't kill us both when I tell him."

                Stiles stayed in the doorway. He'd been in the doorway for several minutes now and couldn't say whether either Dumbo or Gregson had noticed him or realized they'd left it open. Dumbo lounged on Gregson's couch, shirtless and slightly bloodied. A bandage wrapped around his chest. Gregson still wore her pajamas, though smears of blood ruined the butterfly pattern.

                "Tell me what?" Stiles asked when he decided they weren't going to say enough to answer any obvious questions on their own.

                Gregson leapt to her feet and spun to stand at attention and salute in less time than it took for Dumbo to pull his gaze from the ceiling. She cringed almost before she'd finished saluting and immediately turned back around to begin cleaning up bandages. Stiles wondered what she meant to do about the blood.

                "Dumbo still won't admit he needs help," Gregson said. "I did figure out he contacted someone. That's why they're after him."

                "Who?"

                "He won't say."

                "You can't find out?"

                Gregson scowled, ramming used cotton swabs into her garbage can with unnecessary force. "I'm working on it."

                Dumbo said, "I told Delilah Keynes to give herself up."

                "Is that true?" Stiles asked him before immediately turning to Gregson and saying, "It sounds like bullshit."

                Gregson shrugged. "The text of the message was, 'Go back. Tell them everything,' but I don't know who he sent it to."

                Stiles said, "That is exactly what Keynes did though, right? Why would she trust Dumbo?"

                "I've known her since I was eight. I used to call her Auntie Deelah. She hated it." Dumbo seemed to think they would believe this.

                Stiles narrowed his eyes at Dumbo and wished very hard for a way to tell if he was lying.

                Gregson said, "He received a response. It said, 'You abandoned your post.'" Non-sequitur, but Stiles could handle that.

                "What post?" Stiles asked.

                Gregson shrugged. Dumbo shrugged too.

                Stiles took a seat beside Dumbo on the bloodied couch. "He's still here, so it wasn't guarding me. What did he do before you guys moved into town?"

                "Nothing," Gregson said. "He stayed with the squad. Could he have been meant to watch one of them?"

                "Were any of them important enough to warrant a personal spy-slash-guard?"

                "Possibly but not likely, not when there were easier ways to watch us," Gregson admitted. "It didn't say how long ago he abandoned his post. Maybe he never should have been a guard in the first place."

                Stiles leaned forward. "You said he was with a different squad before and changed his name freely, right? Why would they order something like that, something people would so easily see through?"

                "To distract from something else?"

                "Or they didn't order it at all. He did." Stiles turned to Dumbo to catch his expression. It was his usual absent smirk, like he'd drifted off thinking of a joke. "Because no one had enough power to countermand his orders even when they were the irresponsible whims of a bored kid."

                "I don't see how he could have that kind of power, sir. People have always been dicks to Dumbo. It didn't start with you."

                "He doesn't mind though, do you, Felix?"

                "Dumbo," Dumbo corrected.

                "But if Keynes knows you're one of her peers, it explains why she'd listen to you. And no one knows what happened to Felix Lorrain because he abandoned his position on the board to play soldier."

                Gregson arched an eyebrow. "Felix Lorrain is a way cooler name than Edmund Philips. Just saying."

                Dumbo snapped, "Shut your sinful mouth, Sara. Edmund is my favorite Pevensie."

                Gregson leaned back and smirked like Stiles hadn't just guessed Dumbo was a super villain. "He would be."

                Stiles cut in. "So are we not worried about Dumbo being a bad guy?"

                "Not really. He's still Dumbo, just now I have a better idea _why_ he's Dumbo."

                Dumbo grinned at that. "It's because of my magnificent ears, obviously."

                "Shut the hell up," Stiles groaned. He'd expected Dumbo to pull a gun on him, not to continue acting exactly as Dumbo had always acted.

                "You're gonna want to tell all your friends about my tragic backstory now, aren't you?" Dumbo asked.

                "How is it tragic?"

                "I'm a compulsive liar because Daddy always loved his work as a super villain more than he loved me, so when I took over his position, I ignored my evil responsibilities exactly as any spoiled rich kid would."

                Stiles studied him a moment before asking, "Can a compulsive liar admit to being a compulsive liar?"

                "If I wasn't a compulsive liar, wouldn't I have to be telling the truth, making me a compulsive liar?"

                "Unless you're just a regular liar trying to pass yourself off as a compulsive liar." Stiles wondered if Gregson kept hard liquor on hand and if she'd share.

                "What are you doing here, Joker?" Dumbo asked instead of responding. "Did Sara call you again? She promised she wouldn't."

                Stiles reached into his pocket to the carved darkwood box he had Gregson's new eye in. "I brought her birthday present over early. The door was open. She called you _Eddie._ "

                Gregson snorted. "Sir, I hate to break it to you, but there is a very good chance I only call him Dumbo when I know you're listening."

                "Why?"

                "Why do I not always call him Dumbo or why does it matter whether you're there?"

                "Either? Both? Neither? I don't know."

                "I know there are things you wouldn't approve of or ever want to think about, so I protect you like the good bodyguard I am, sir. But it would be weird to call me boyfriend Dumbo."

                Stiles thought he managed to sputter words like, "Boyfriend?" and "Subordinate," but he could tell none of it was coherent.

                "I told you it would break him," Gregson accused, glaring at Dumbo.

                Stiles turned to glare at Dumbo too. He supposed Dumbo was pretty in a lanky way with his prominent cheekbones, soft black curls, and obnoxious smirk. And he was skilled and clever and powerful. It only made Stiles angrier that he could immediately think of a million things Gregson would see in some idiot Stiles had named Dumbo to keep anyone from following his lead and killing Stiles on the spot. He replayed the memory of Gregson punching Dumbo in the face a few times to make himself feel better.

                Stiles finally got his tongue under control and asked, "You knew even his name was fake, but you still trusted him enough to date him?"

                Dumbo's smirk deepened. "You're a thousand times more disturbed by this than you were by realizing I was a Watchtower board member."

                "So you admit it."

                "Hell, fucker, I'll admit to being a sea lion. Doesn't make it true."

                "Eddie," Gregson scolded.

                "Sorry, I meant, 'Hell, fucker, sir.'"

                Stiles still held the box in his hand and stretched it out toward Gregson to change the topic. She opened it with Stiles and Dumbo watching. The spiral galaxy eye rested in velvet cushioning set into the box. Her expression hardened. She clenched her jaw and lifted the eye. With a last glance at Stiles and Dumbo, she turned away and took the eye with her to the restroom.

                Stiles looked at Dumbo, who watched him with something of a smirk.

                Dumbo said, “You know what you've done there, right?”

                Stiles scowled. “Trick explained while trying to talk me out of it.”

                “I didn't mean the magic.”

                “Depends on whether you work for me, then.”

                Dumbo laughed at that. He shook his head. Stiles ground his teeth, suddenly convinced the laugh was more honest an answer than any words Dumbo shared.

                " _Sara_ works for you," Dumbo said. "Sara never stops talking about you. Not sure you can fact check me here since she's not likely to admit it, but Sara would drop me in a second if you were available. Not because she loves you—because she could never love you—but because she's dedicated everything she has to you. Honestly, convincing her I'm Felix Lorrain in disguise is the best thing you could have done for my chances with her. She likes the excitement."

                "Then why'd you deny it?"

                Dumbo shrugged. "She'd never believe anything I admitted to. There's nothing I hate more than being faced with the truth where I'd lied. I'm actually not Felix at all, so denying it is my right. You probably want Felix Lorrain dead, so it's in my best interest to deny it regardless. I think it's funnier to keep you guessing and will therefore both deny and confirm everything."

                "That's enough," Stiles said. "You're giving me a headache."

                "A lot of people have that reaction."

                "Damn, but I think you just said something that isn't a lie."

                "Sorry. I'll try harder next time. Most people trust me instinctively but somehow still hate my company."

                Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Is that like an opposite statement? Are you saying most people actually like you even though they feel they can't trust you?"

                "No, I'm more of a zigzag."

                "What the hell does that mean?"

                "It means you're a sucker. Think of my words like I think of your face."

                Stiles scowled. "Then how am I supposed to figure anything out at all?"

                "Sara does." He poked the corner of Stiles' mouth.

                Stiles sputtered and jerked away from him.

                Gregson returned, and Stiles found himself too distracted by her galactic eyeball to reprimand Dumbo. That eye was not subtle.

                "People are going to realize your eye is fake and maybe that it has magic powers," Stiles said. "Are you okay flaunting that?"

                Gregson arched an eyebrow. "Have you met my boss?"

                "Touché." Stiles' first tattoo had been on his face.

                "I think it's badass and hot," Dumbo said. "But does it work?"

                "I'm not sure." She settled back into her chair, staring intently at Stiles. She covered first the prosthetic eye, then the real one.

                "I can call a werewolf in case I'm not magic enough," Stiles offered.

                "You're magic enough," Dumbo assured him. "How does it feel?" He directed the last at Gregson.

                "Just like my other prosthesis," Gregson admitted. "I don't know why I expected anything else. I can't see out of an eye that isn't there."

                "Well, yeah, it's a hunk of glass," Dumbo said. "Stop trying to see out of it, and start trying to magic out of it."

                "What the hell, Eddie?" Gregson turned to Stiles for help.

                "Sorry, Gregson, that actually made sense to me. It's not an eye so much as an enchanted object you store in your face."

                "I hate both of you."

                Dumbo pouted.

                Gregson jabbed her index finger at him. " _Especially_ you. You're supposed to be empathetic."

                "So I'm a shitty boyfriend. Sense some magic already."

                Gregson said, "I feel like there's... something. I just don't know how to access it. Or I'm imagining it."

                "Joker, do something magic-y," Dumbo ordered. "Maybe it'll be easier for her to see."

                Stiles stunned Dumbo. He opened a few cabinets telekinetically until he found the glasses and filled one with water. He pulled the cup closer to him and upended it over Dumbo's head.

                When the stunning effect wore off, all Dumbo did was turn to Gregson and ask, "Well?" Water dripped off his nose.

                Gregson nodded. "Barely. I think I need practice, but I saw something right at the beginning, like a flash except it grabbed hold of you. I didn't get anything from the rest."

                Stiles said, "I'm better with the spade than the club. Maybe that makes it clearer."

                "Maybe it's Maybelline," Dumbo agreed sagely.

                Gregson chuckled and kicked Dumbo's shin.

                "It's a start," Stiles said. "I'm going to leave now." They were making him uncomfortable.

                Dumbo waved cheerfully, and Gregson saw him out. Stiles considered texting the pack about Dumbo, but anyone could read text messages. He'd have to call the pack together to tell them.

 

**~.x.~**

Derek had his arms crossed. His expression remained neutral, but inside he seethed. Stiles fidgeted in his seat. The rest of the pack was there, fuming and shouting outwardly, but it was Derek who worried him. Stiles had ruined their relationship enough times. They'd never survive another.

                "Are you sure?" Allison asked. Her voice cut through the others, silencing the arguments that started the moment he said the names Dumbo and Felix Lorrain together.

                "No," Stiles admitted. "I don't have proof, only a suspicion. He could be no one."

                "He's someone," Stiles' dad said. He leaned against the doorway looking into Derek's now-crowded loft without fully entering. "He wouldn't be worth assassinating if he was no one. They especially wouldn't go after him above you, Stiles."

                Derek nodded once.

                "We can try to capture one of them next time they attack," Stiles suggested.

                "That would mean we have to be there," Isaac said. "No one can keep tabs on this guy, remember?"

                "I'll handle it," Allison said.

                "How?"

                Allison gave Isaac an icy glare. Isaac raised his hands in defeat, but his eyebrows seemed to say he still doubted her.

                "Do you have time to watch Dumbo and the chimeras both?" Derek asked. Growled more than asked.

                The same glare had less effect on Derek than Isaac.

                "I'll help," Cat offered. She'd been tense since Stiles shared his news, and her claws, while not fully out, pricked at the denim of her jeans.

                "Are you sure?" Stiles asked. "I won't risk _you_ taking him out instead of them."

                Derek bared his teeth. "Why are you protecting him if he's Watchtower?"

                " _I'm_ Watchtower," Stiles snapped. He winced and pulled back.

                No one responded. Stiles could feel their stares on him, though he kept his own eyes on his hands, still fidgeting in his lap. He tugged at the seam of his pants. Peter had been leaning against the wall, watching them all with his usual amusement at their desperate antics. Stiles didn't hear him move, but he set his hand against Stiles' shoulder. At least Scott hadn't been available.

                "You're not Watchtower," Allison said at last. "You're pack. Scott would say the same if he was here."

                Stiles raised his eyes to meet hers but couldn't bring himself to smile or thank her. She wasn't right. Yes, he was pack, but he was Watchtower too. He had followers, Watchtower soldiers who supported him. Watchtower soldiers he hadn't been using to take on his Watchtower enemies. Some of them had been under his command for a while, but others had started calling themselves Jesters and supported him during the fall. He should have found them sooner. He should have used them sooner.

                _Stiles, stop,_ Derek thought. _You don't have to do this. You don't have to be one of them._

                _I already am._

                Derek unfolded his arm to grab hold of Stiles' wrist. _You want to stop being Joker,_ he insisted. _You were going to move on._

_If this is what it takes to fight them, it's what I'll do. I can't move on with them still out there hunting me. I won't lose control this time._

_They're not hunting you. They're hunting Felix Lorrain._

Stiles set his hand on Derek's to pull it from his wrist. _He's one of mine. And I don't believe they're not after me. They just haven't made their move yet._

_You've made this mistake before, Stiles. It doesn't work out._

_It can if you help me through. I kept failing because I left you behind._

                Derek shook his head but took hold of Stiles' hand and squeezed. _Be careful._ _This is bigger than you._

Aloud, Stiles said, "One of the splintered factions supports me, or did back when the fighting started. I'm gonna find them, and I'm gonna make them fight for me."

                His father said, "You're not a general, Stiles. You're not leading soldiers in a war."

                "Not yet."

                He'd expected the others to argue. He'd expected them to shout like they had about Dumbo. They stared at him with a new hollowness behind their eyes. They'd thought he was getting better. They'd thought he was becoming his old self, a better self. They'd thought he was pulling away from Watchtower. He'd thought so too. Maybe someday, he would. But not yet.


	3. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full disclosure: my profession is barista

Stiles groaned when he saw Dumbo with Gregson waiting outside the café. At least Stiles could keep tabs on him this way. Dumbo grinned and waved. He and Gregson were holding hands. Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. As Stiles approached, Dumbo held the door open, but Stiles was distracted by Gregson. She had her new eye in. Stiles waved like he hadn't already seen them or been staring and entered the café.

                The barista hesitated when she saw him. She was one of the three who had seen him use telekinesis last Wednesday. She recovered herself quickly and began, "Your ususa—" before cutting off when she caught sight of Gregson. "Oh my God! That's awesome. Your eye, I mean."

                "Thanks," Gregson said, nodding.

                "What's awesome?" Another barista popped her head around from the back. She was actually wearing a nametag—maybe a first for this café—but it had flipped backward. She had purple hair, but Stiles didn't remember her. Maybe she was new.

                "Sara's got a new eye. It's badass."

                "Dude, I didn't even know you wore a prosthetic." If she knew Gregson, Stiles probably should have known her.

                Gregson chuckled. "Yeah, the old one was a really good match."

                "Can I ask what happened to your bio-eye?"

                "Work accident."

                "Go back to dishes, Mag," the first barista said, shooing her away. "I'm starting to get a line now. Your usuals?" She directed the last to Stiles.

                Gregson answered for him, "Yes, plus a Java Chip Frap extra whip and drizzle for Eddie."

                "Seriously? That's like dessert," Stiles grumbled.

                The barista laughed. "There is no wrong time for dessert when there's coffee in it. Trust me. I make them from open to close." She finished ringing them and sent them on their way, back to her usual cheerful self. Stiles supposed people in Beacon Hills had to be good at getting over supernatural crap. If they weren't, they'd be working with the pack by now.

                They took a table in the corner. People stared a little more than usual.

                "Setter said she thinks someone's been watching her," Gregson said.

                Dumbo whined, "We don't even have our coffee, Sara. Can't work wait like eighty more seconds?"

                "Shut up," Stiles said. He turned back to Gregson. "Does she know who it is?"

                Gregson shook her head. "Spade's the one who noticed them. He says they're human, so it could be hunters."

                "Are they in danger?"

                "So far, they're just watching. Either way, Setter isn't sure she should bring whoever's tailing her to Beacon Hills. She's asked for your orders."

                "See if she can find out more. If they can't, stay where she is. We don't know what they'll do if we don't know who they are. If Setter discovers anything, report it, and we'll reassess then."

                Gregson pulled out her phone, though Stiles couldn't tell if she was taking notes or texting Setter.

                "What about the others?" Stiles asked.

                "A few have asked if we're requesting or ordering they come back. Rivera and Tuanwend are on their way. Most of the others haven't responded yet. Glory said 'No.' Edison says he has a gig? I think he joined a band."

                Stiles didn't admit to recognizing zero of those names. "It's a request, not an order."

                "Edison's band has a Facebook page," Dumbo said. "You should like it. They're not as bad as you'd expect after meeting Edison."

                The barista called, "Sara and co.," so Gregson sent Dumbo to collect their drinks.

                "I also asked if anyone knew more about Eddie. No one does, at least no one who has responded."

                "I wouldn't expect them to," Stiles admitted.

                "It was worth a shot," Gregson said as Dumbo returned. She smiled as he handed over her latte. "Thanks, Eddie."

                "Look, Passh drew a swirly eye on your cup," Dumbo pointed out. "At least I think it was Passh? Mag doesn't know how to draw, does she?"

                Gregson shook her head. "Mag does engineering." She turned her gaze to Stiles. "She also used to be blonde. That's why you didn't recognize her. She has her septum pierced but left the ring out today."

                "Oh." Stiles was pretty sure he thought the blonde girl with the septum piercing was annoying.

                "You don't like when she makes your drink because she puts less caramel than Passh since she's not trying to flirt with you."

                "Ohhh."

                Gregson eyed him over her cup. "Sometimes I wish we could bring your friends for coffee. They miss how you ignore other people because you started paying attention to them."

                Stiles scowled.

                "I think that's why Derek doesn't like to come. He already knows," Gregson continued.

                "Back off, Sara," Dumbo said. "At least call him 'sir.' You haven't done it once today."

                Gregson shrugged and stood. "I've got to arrange rooms for Rivera and Tuanwend. I'll let you know when I hear from anyone else."

                Dumbo sat with Stiles a moment as Gregson walked away. "She could see you this time, I think," Dumbo said, grinning. "I wonder how long 'till she can see what she can do to you?"

                Stiles scowled as Dumbo left too. He fiddled with his coffee cup instead of drinking it. Did he care that the baristas didn't matter to him? Gregson did. Why?

                When the door opened, Stiles glanced up absently but didn't turned back to his macchiato. Lydia and Allison stepped through the door and paused, looking around until Allison's eyes fell on Stiles. She pointed his way.

                "I hoped you'd still be here," Lydia said when they reached him. She took the seat Gregson had vacated.

                Instead of sitting, Allison said, "I'm thirsty. Want anything?"

                "Cappuccino, thank you." Lydia answered with a smile that froze when she turned back to Stiles. "I have to ask you something, but you have to swear never to tell anyone."

                "Lydia, you know Derek can literally read my mind, right?"

                "Can't you block stuff off from him? I've had conversations with him that you know nothing about."

                Stiles shook his head. "I'm actually really bad at psychic shit, and Derek's really good."

                Lydia pursed her lips. "It's about Peter, or part of it is."

                Stiles jumped upward from his slouch so fast his drink sloshed over his fingers. "About his kid?" Stiles half-whispered and licked espresso and milk from his hand.

                Lydia nodded stiffly. "I don't think it's safe for Peter to know who it is."

                "Does that mean _you_ know?"

                Lydia didn't answer. She let her eyes roam the café.

                A thought from Derek interrupted Stiles as he watched her. He stood in the woods with Malia Tate before him, smelling of frustration and loss. Her hands clenched into fists. She bared her teeth. But Malia showed no sign of fang or claw. _She doesn't know how,_ Derek explained. _I'm going to teach her._

_Kk luvya bai._ Stiles focused on the phrase as text.

                _Godamnit._ Derek turned his attention away from Stiles, but not before letting through a trickle of amusement.

                Allison returned with Lydia's cappuccino, sipping lightly at her own drink. "Did you..?" She widened her eyes instead of finishing her sentence.

                Lydia bit her lip. "Sort of." She turned back to Stiles. "Is that why you agreed to help Peter? because you want to help him connect with his child? Because you think he could actually be a father?"

                "I agreed to help Peter so he'd fund Gregson's birthday present."

                Allison leaned forward. "So you don't care what could happen to someone after finding out their father is Peter?"

                "Gregson keeps pointing out how I don't care what could happen to anyone at all unless they're pack, so..."

                "I don't believe that," Allison insisted.

                Lydia nodded her agreement. "Can you name any actual good qualities about Peter?"

                "He's smart?"

                "Fine. Anything that makes him a good person?"

                "He didn't kill me when I refused the bite?"

                Lydia gave him a flat stare that made it clear her standards were higher than refraining from murder.

                "I don't know what you want me to say," Stiles complained. "Peter makes me feel safe, but I honestly can't tell you what it is about him that keeps him from skewering me. He's not inherently loyal to just anyone. Or maybe anyone at all."

                Lydia frowned. "Do you think Peter would manipulate his child if he knew who it was?"

                "Peter manipulates everyone. He'd also want to try connecting with them."

                "Do you think he'd hurt his own child?"

                "Imagine his relationship with Derek but with less antagonism based on past murders."

                Allison said, "Derek and Peter barely talk to each other."

                Stiles nodded. "But Peter visits the loft freely and semi-regularly. They don't try to kill each other, and neither of them complains anymore that I'm close to both."

                Lydia asked, "Are you saying you think we should tell Peter?"

                "He wants to know," Stiles said. "Have you asked his kid yet if they want to know?"

                Lydia shook her head. "I'm too afraid of Peter hurting her."

                "It's a girl?" Stiles asked.

                "Shit." Lydia dropped her head toward the table, hair falling over her face for a moment. "Don't tell Peter that until I decide, okay?"

                Stiles shrugged.

                "Stiles."

                "Fine, okay. I won't say it's a girl." Stiles rolled his eyes and turned to Allison. "Have you found anything on the chimeras?"

                "Not a lot. They don't like to meet as a pack in public. Theo makes rounds, talking to them in ones and twos instead. There are at least four other than Hayden and Theo. I'm still not sure what they were looking for."

                Stiles hadn't expected more. "You haven't seen anyone stalking Dumbo other than you and Cat, have you?"

                Allison shook her head.

                Stiles tapped his fingers on the table. "How did you know I'd still be here?"

                "I'm stalking Dumbo, remember?" Allison said. "He entered with you, left without."

                "Then who is with him now?"

                "Sara and Cat." Allison shook her head. "You need to trust us, Stiles. The rest of us are just as capable as you."

                Stiles took a drink so she wouldn't expect him to speak.

                Allison sighed and turned to Lydia. "He has a point though. Maybe we should speak to her."

                Lydia rolled her eyes. "It's hard to explain why she may not want to know who her father is without explaining who her father is."

                "She can decide if she wants _him_ to know," Allison said.

                Lydia nodded. She ran her finger around the edge of her cappuccino's lid.

                "Can you tell _me_ who it is?" Stiles asked.

                "No," they snapped in unison.

                Stiles winced and finished his macchiato.

                "Are you and Derek okay?" Lydia asked.

                "Of course we are. Why are you changing the topic?"

                The girls shared a look.

                "You haven't been spending much time together," Allison explained.

                "Hardly any time together," Lydia added.

                Stiles countered, "It could be argued we spend all our time together since we live in each others' minds and souls."

                Lydia arched an eyebrow.

                "I'm serious," Stiles said. "We're fine. We just have different interests. For example, I love sitting on my ass drinking coffee, and he loves running through the woods as a wolf. We see each other every day, and we speak and check in with each other throughout it. Right now he's teaching Malia Tate how to shift because she's bitter at being stuck a human after years of coyote freedom."

                "You just used to spend as much time together as possible," Allison said.

                Stiles snorted. "We used to be terrified to spend time apart. What about you two? I don't see Parrish or Isaac hanging around."

                "Jordan's at work," Lydia said. "I haven't told him about the supernatural yet."

                "Isaac is in class. I scheduled more strategically than he did."

                "You mean you're keeping tabs on everything in Beacon Hills _and_ keeping up with school?" Stiles asked.

                "You used to do it too," she reminded him. "And I'm taking a light course load because I knew something would come up, even if I couldn't say what."

                "I'm also pretty sure Cat doesn't sleep," Lydia added. "Maybe ever."

                "She's helping a lot," Allison confirmed.

                Lydia stiffened in her seat but continued playing with her coffee cup. Stiles scanned the café. Older customers took most of the tables this early because the younger often had school or work. The baristas chattered behind the counter while Passh took apart one of the blenders to clean it. A teenager had taken a table across the café but with a clear line of sight to Stiles and his friends. He was handsome, with black skin and short hair, but his dark eyes gazed without focus. He would have been looking straight at Allison. Allison followed Stiles' gaze to study the teen, who blinked rapidly as though coming to himself. He looked around, shook his head, and left the café. No one else seemed to notice. Lydia relaxed.

                "What just happened?" Stiles asked. "Who was that?"

                Lydia stared at the empty table. "I think we almost died."

                "Do you know who he was?" Stiles asked.

                "How would I know that?" Lydia demanded as Allison shrugged and shook her head.

                "You remembered Hayden from high school, and he looked about the same age." Stiles glanced back at the empty table as he spoke.

                "I would have forgotten Hayden except that her older sister works with my boyfriend," Lydia snapped. "She's been at the station at the same time as _you_ before, so maybe _you_ should have known her."

                "She must not have seemed like much of a threat before," he said.

                "Forget it," Allison said. "Lydia, what happened? How did you know we were in danger?"

                "I sense death, don't I?"

                Allison set her hand on Lydia's wrist. "Just try to think about it. How did you feel? "

                Lydia took a deep breath before speaking again. "I felt like a ghost was watching me. I know that doesn't make any sense."

                "Maybe it makes more sense than you think," Allison said. "He was staring at as, right at us, but then he seemed to come to his senses and left without a glance at us."

                "You think he was possessed?" Stiles asked.

                "By something that already died," Lydia added.

                Stiles said, "He wasn't staring at all of us. He was staring at you, Allison."

                "That doesn't make any sense," Allison insisted.

                "I'm guessing it will when we find out who or what was controlling him," Stiles said.

                "I know nothing happened," Lydia said, "but I think we should tell the others."

                Stiles rolled his eyes but reached out to Derek. _Some teenager may be possessed by something that hates Allison, and Lydia thinks it can take us. Us being Allison, Lydia, and myself all at the same time. So watch out for that I guess._

Derek grunted, both mentally and aloud. Malia tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "What?"

                _Do you want me to stay?_ Stiles asked. Derek was sharing, or Stiles wouldn't see this. But Stiles didn't know if Derek meant to share.

                _Yeah,_ Derek confirmed.

                "My boyfriend distracted me," Derek said aloud.

                "We're alone." Malia motioned to the woods around them. Derek neither heard nor smelled anyone nearby.

                "You remember the man with us when I forced you to shift?"

                Malia's eyes narrowed as her scent spiked with caution and curiosity in equal amounts. "Does he fly much?" She stepped forward, eyes widening. Something like hunger waited behind them. She must have been waiting for a chance to ask about Stiles, but why?

                "No, he's never flown. What you saw was the only time he's ever levitated."

                _What are you doing, Derek?_

"What's his deal then? Is he some kind of wizard?" Malia asked.

                "We don't know, but he's strong. More than strong." He crossed his arms, studying Malia's reaction.

                She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "That's not an answer. What can he do?"

                "He has talismans in his skin. The first stuns his enemies. The second heals his wounds. The third grants him telekinesis."

                _Seriously, Derek, what the fuck?_

                "The fourth?" Malia asked.

                _How did she know there was a fourth?_

                "How did you know there was a fourth?" Derek asked as Stiles thought it, not after.

                "He has four tattoos," she said like the most obvious thing in the world, "if you count the scar. One matches yours. Is that how he talks to you?"

                "No. They're linked, but the bond is separate."

                "Why tell me this?"

                _I agree. Don't trust strangers with my secrets._

"Are you trying to scare me?" Malia demanded. "I'm not afraid of him."

                Derek's eyes flickered between hazel and red. "Are you afraid of me?"

                "No."

                "You should be. Fear drives you to protect yourself. This town is a beacon to the supernatural. You need to be on your guard."

                Malia studied him with her arms crossed, mirroring Derek's stance. "But you two protect people. That's why you made me human again, to make sure I wasn't attacking people. If you're the good guys, I don't have to be afraid of you."

                Derek sighed, raising his eyebrows. Fed up, Stiles tried to dig for Derek's purpose here only to be pushed back. Without missing a beat even as he held Stiles back from his thoughts, Derek asked, "Can you tell which of his talismans give what power?"

                "How would I know that?"

                "Just guess."

                Malia tossed her hands in the air in frustration. "How big is the one on his neck?"

                "It goes from neck to hip crossing chest and back."

                _I want you to know I'm angry at you._

"It's for healing," Malia decided. "The one by his eye is for stunning. The scar is telekinetic."

                Derek smirked.

                _Withholding sex levels of angry._

"How would you counter them?" Derek asked.

                "I felt him looking through me when he stunned me before. It worked because I looked back at him. I need to cover it or fight blind."

                Derek nodded.

                "He had cuts and bruises that didn't heal right away. If he's hurt bad enough, he'll have to wait until he can fight again. I have claws for that. I just need to cut deep."

                "One more," Derek said.

                "Two if I count you. I can't stop that except by killing him too fast for you to help. I don't know how to stop him moving things with his brain. How strong is it? Can he move me?"

                "Probably not."

                "Then I throw a car at him."

                "He can dodge a car, especially since you can't throw it fast. You're strong. You're not Wonder Woman."

                Malia eyed Derek. "Does he have to see what he's moving? If I take him somewhere too dark for his eyes, will that stop the spade and the club?"

                _If you send her after me, Derek, I swear to God I will burn every book you own._

                "You've really been a coyote since you were nine?" Derek asked. "Because I know people who lived their entire lives as humans and couldn't defeat him."

                "Are you saying I'd win?"

                _I would fuck her the hell up._

"No, but you're planning strategically. That gives you a chance."

                _I would fuck her up so hard her children were born pre-fucked, you ass._

                Derek finally deigned to respond to Stiles, _Shut the hell up. She's strong. We can use her in the pack._

_That's what this is about? You're testing her?_

_I think she's passing._

_Let me kick her ass, and we'll see who's passing._

Malia said, "Why does your face go slack like that? Is it him?"

                "We tend to lose track of our bodies when we're in each others' minds."

                "What does he think about you asking me how to beat him?"

                Derek smirked. "He's angry. That means he's impressed. You're smart. You're strong. You're vicious."

                Her eyes burned with blue light. "Does he want to fight me?"

                Derek shook his head. "You should join us. I'm an alpha, but not the true alpha of this pack. I'm going to call him."

                "So this was an audition?"

                "You came to me. _You_ asked about Stiles' power."

                "You just got what you wanted anyway." Malia furrowed her brows, thoughtful rather than angry.

                _Fuck this, I'm out,_ Stiles thought before pulling himself from the scene back into the cafe.

                Lydia said, "I was wondering how long you'd take. What, were you brain-fucking?"

                Stiles rolled his eyes. "He was training with Malia and wanted me to sit in for a moment."

                "Why?" Allison asked.

                "To be annoying." Stiles pushed his chair back and stood. "Do you have time to shoot things at me?"

                Allison smiled. "I always have time to shoot things at you."

               

**~.x.~**

The preserve was large enough that Stiles and Allison could pick an area near the ravine without risk of running into Derek and Malia. Allison rummaged through her trunk, picking through which weapons to hope Stiles would avoid today. Birds sang in the trees, but any rabbits or squirrels had already been scared off when they drove up. Allison had parked at the end of a tire-beaten path too recent to have become a road. This wasn't their first time here.

                "Bored," Stiles noted, leaning against the scratchy trunk of a tree with the ravine to his left.

                Allison turned around, fiddling with a flash grenade. "I heard you levitated. Think you can manage it again?"

                Stiles shook his head.

                Allison shrugged. "Try harder." She threw the flash grenade.

                Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and leapt to the right. He tucked into a roll and came to his feet running. An arrow struck the ground by his feet. It wailed, like the arrows Allison would use to herd werewolves but at a frequency within human hearing. It sounded like screaming. Stiles gritted his teeth and veered away. He couldn't cover his ears while running.

                The next arrow struck a tree by his ear.

                "Are you serious right now?" Stiles shouted. She wasn't even trying to hit him.

                Allison answered with another arrow. This one would have pierced Stiles' leg, but he diverted it into the ground. It screeched like the others on impact.

                Stiles turned again to avoid the sound and took cover in the overgrown roots of an old tree. She was herding him toward the ravine. Did she want him to jump it? He couldn't fucking fly. Leaning out from his cover, Stiles pulled her arrows from where they'd struck and hurled them back at Allison tail-ends first. She barely flinched at the noise. Earplugs, then.

                He tried stunning Allison. She never looked at his face. When she fired, he stopped the arrow and threw it back. His power didn't grant as much force as her bow.

                "You're getting faster," Allison said. "You'll never be faster than a werewolf."

                "I'll also never be a better tactical thinker than you, so what are we really aiming for here?" Stiles ducked behind the trunk of a tree. He could probably outrun Allison and hide. That would give him a chance to ambush her. But she had sharp eyes. She might trap him instead.

                "We could try for less of a little shit, I guess?"

                Screaming arrows landed to either side of Stiles' tree. He cringed at the noise.

                "Did you record Lydia to make these damn things?"

                "Yup."

                Shadows in the underbrush beyond Allison's car reached outward in smoking tendrils. Speckles of light reflected off the leaves. Two spots of light didn't shine from the sun above. They glowed.

                "End session." That would tell Allison he wasn't distracting her to get a hit in. "Behind you." Stiles kept his eyes on those two points of light. nothing had moved yet. Maybe it wasn't a threat. Maybe it was friendly.

                Allison turned, bow already raised to shoot Stiles. She aimed now at the expanding shadow. "Come out slowly," she said in a carrying voice. "I don't want to hurt you."

                The shadow rose to reveal a hulking werewolf with a Cheshire grin, its body formed of solidified smoke.

                "That's big," Stiles noted.

                "Stay where you are," Allison commanded when the monster—the smoke-wolf?—stepped forward.

                It's grin twisted into a snarl. It advanced.

                "I don't think it's afraid of us," Stiles said.

                "It should be." Allison fired.

                It caught the arrow. Lydia's recorded scream wailed, and the beast flinched, tossing the arrow away. As it shook the sound from its ears, Allison grabbed Stiles' wrist and pulled him toward the car.

                The monster recovered itself. It lunged for the car. It crushed the hood with one massive hand and swatted at Stiles with the other. Stiles pushed at its hand with all the strength of his talisman. It paused, turned its head to face him. Pressure built behind Stiles' eyes as he struggled to hold it back. The beast growled, flexed its muscled arm, and threw Stiles backward into the trunk of an old oak. Stiles struggled to push himself to his hands and knees.

                Allison had retreated but inched in Stiles' direction, firing a steady stream of arrows at the werewolf to distract it.

                "Run, Allison!" Stiles ordered.

                _HELP!_ he thought with all the force he knew how.

                Allison ran out of arrows. "I'm not leaving you." She drew her ring knives and stood ready.

                Stiles' back screamed in pain as he pushed himself to his feet. The monster only had eyes for Allison.

                "It's after you, not me. Run." Stiles leaned against the tree, unable to support his own weight in the face of such pain.

                The beast charged.

                A body crashed through the woods into Allison, pushing her from the monster's path. Stiles pushed with all the strength he could muster against the monster, but only moved it back a few yards. Allison rolled on the dirt, coming to her feet quickly. The one who pushed her had already turned away. The monster recovered with a growl.

                "Stiles is right," Theo said, stepping out from behind the tree at Stiles back, the opposite direction the other chimera had come. "You should run."

                "What is that thing?" Allison demanded.

                "You don't recognize it?" Theo smirked and studied the werewolf, now busy fending off an entire pack of chimeras. "That is _la Bête du Gévaudan."_

_"La Bête_ is dead," Allison insisted.

                "He's been resurrected by the same Doctors who created us. We're just their failures." Bitterness clouded Theo's voice at the end, but he recovered himself to study Allison. "He must hate you very much. Until now, the Beast has only come out at night."

                "Is someone going to explain what any of that means?" Stiles asked.

                Hayden flew past them, barely missing the tree Stiles had crashed into, before either could answer. She rolled to her feet but flinched putting weight on her leg.

                "It's already too strong," she told Theo.

                "Your pack _is_ losing," Allison pointed out.

                A girl with a kanima's tail and scales held the thing at bay, but barely. The others had been pushed back or beaten down.

                Theo nodded. "We should go. Tracy, lead it to the ravine and meet us at the operating theater. Lucas, get off the ground and help her. Cory, I know you're there. Stop being a little shit and help Josh and Noah." Theo took Hayden by her elbow and helped her shuffle off through the woods.

                Derek and Malia arrived in time to see the chimeras pulling back.

                _There is something wrong with that wolf,_ Derek noted, pulling Stiles from the tree trunk to carry him. Malia only hesitated a moment before pulling Allison from where she stood staring after the Beast as Tracy and Lucas pushed it slowly toward the ravine more by distracting it than fighting. Stiles' friends ran after Theo and Hayden, leaving Allison's ruined car and three chimeras behind.

                "It stole your name," Stiles said when they were safe. Derek raised an eyebrow, so he clarified, "It's called the Beast."

                "It can have the name."

                Malia asked, "Was that thing a werewolf? What about the ones fighting it?"

                "Chimeras," Allison said.

                "I don't know what that is."

                "It's a thing made from incongruous parts."

                Malia furrowed her brows. "I've learned a lot in a few weeks, but you know I was a coyote since I was _nine,_ right?"

                "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. It just means they're made of more than one thing. I think they're mixes of different monsters, but we don't know how. The Beast is one of them too, but made to bring back the worst werewolf in history, the one my family became hunters to defeat."

                "Is that why  it's after you?" Stiles asked.

                "It must be."

                "This isn't the first person to show interest in you this morning," Stiles reminded her.

                "Your phone is ringing," Derek said, saving Allison from having to respond.

                _Shit._ Stiles fumbled his phone from his pocket and answered.

                "What the hell, Stiles?" Peter demanded.

                "I didn't do anything."

                "The shit you didn't. I was making lunch and nearly had a heart attack."

                "I don't know what that means."

                Peter growled. Stiles couldn't see his eyes, but knew they'd be glowing with a cold blue light. "We're not supposed to be bonded, but you screamed for help so loudly _I_ heard it. Then you didn't answer your damn phone to tell me where the hell you are that you need saving from."

                "I'm fine now. I'll tell you what happened later."

                "No, you'll tell me who attacked you later. I suspect you're going to keep how you contacted me to yourself."

                "I don't know, Peter. I swear."

                "Fuck you. Dinner's at nine because I have to go shopping first. Bring whoever." Peter hung up.

                "Who was that?" Malia asked.

                "Peter Hale. He's... a complicated person." Stiles tried to shove his phone back in his pocket but couldn't get it in with the way Derek was holding him. "Let's get home so I can lie down a while. My back is killing me so hard it's going to start killing the rest of you too."

                "That doesn't make any sense," Malia insisted.

                "You'll get used to him," Allison assured her.

 

**~.x.~**

Peter kept his distance from Stiles. He set the table and sneered through their description of the attack, pausing only to nod an almost civil greeting to Malia when Derek explained her presence. Or part of it. None of them fully understood why she cared to follow them to dinner after avoiding them her entire life.

                When they finished speaking, Peter stared into his plate as though preparing for his rice to disappoint him. “That's it?” he asked at last.

                “Should we have come closer to dying?” Allison demanded.

                Peter rolled his eyes. “I expected more psychic phenomena, or did you forget why I invited Stiles over?”

                She shook her head.

                Malia spoke around a mouthful of beans, “I thought Stiles was psychic a lot. Does it not work like that?”

                “Stiles is as psychic as a falling rock,” Derek said. “He should only be able to speak to me.”

                “So are you psychic?”

                “The bond doesn't rely on psychic powers.”

                Malia studied him a moment, absently tapping her fork against her plate. “So you _are_ psychic, but it doesn't matter.”

                Derek blinked at her.

                Peter cut in, “Is there some residual connection from our old bond? Should it worry me? Can we break it?”

                Stiles shrugged.

                “Seriously? A shrug? I have a disturbed teenager in my head, and you shrug.”

                Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Pretty sure I should be offended now.”

                Allison stood. Her napkin slipped to the floor. She glared at Stiles and Peter with equal ferocity. “Stop bickering. Figure it out.”

                “How?” Peter asked. “I look at a card and see if Stiles can guess my number?”

                “It’d be a start.”

                “It was a joke.”

                “I don’t care.”

                Stiles raised a hand and prepared to dodge in case Allison threw a table knife. “Not sure I can speak to Peter without bickering. Even our bond was secretly bickering since we both refused to acknowledge it.”

                Allison widened her eyes and glared powerfully enough Stiles worried she may not need a knife to kill him.

                Peter and Derek gave almost identical amused snorts, but both pretended it hadn’t happened.

                Malia shoveled rice into her mouth and studied them all openly.

                Allison’s cell phone rang. She answered, first with caution, then a curse, raising a finger to silence the others even though they hadn’t spoken.

                “This isn’t funny,” she said. Then after a moment, “You’ll wish it was.”

                The wolves had already stood. Stiles followed suit, sending a thread of curiosity to Derek.

                _The chimeras have Lydia,_ Derek explained. _This was a ransom call._

                Stiles followed the others out. Peter hesitated, but Stiles motioned him along. They followed the others to Derek's car. With five of them it would be tight but doable.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked aloud.

“Shut up and get in the car,” Allison snapped.

Stiles obeyed, but when they were on their way, he couldn’t help saying. “You know she’s fine, right? They’re injured. This is some kind of bluff.”

“You can shut up, or you can walk.” Allison didn't even turn to Stiles as she spoke.

Stiles leaned back between Peter and Malia. Neither of them offered any condolences. Allison alternated between staring at Derek and the road, but he had already floored the gas. No one told Stiles where they were going even though he'd been the only one there unable to hear the ransom call.

Derek pulled up outside the old Hale property. The house had been torn down and a fence put up. Whatever project the county had expected to start there had stalled out in favor of work inside the city limits. Only cracked foundation and bent rebar remained now. Three cars waited on the property, one of them Lydia’s.

Theo stood where Stiles and Scott had once dug up Laura Hale’s remains. Behind him, Lydia sat on a stool set into the dirt, unrestrained but boxed in between Hayden and Tracy. Neither looked ready to fight anyone, but Stiles supposed they could hold back someone without super strength.

“I’m fine,” Lydia assured them. “But annoyed.”

“Let her go,” Allison ordered.

“We just want to talk,” Theo said, raising his hands to placate her.

“I told you they’d talk without kidnapping,” Lydia said.

“I don’t like leaving things to chance.”

Allison had a blade in her hand and at Theo’s neck before anyone could react. Stiles stunned as many as could see his face, Theo included, before that changed.

“You took the chance that I wouldn’t kill you here,” Allison said.

Theo couldn’t respond.

“You’re going to let Lydia go. We’ll listen _if_ she wants us to when she’s free. Then we will leave. You will never touch a member of our pack again. Understood?”

She waited a moment, perfectly still, for Theo to regain control and nod his head, barely moving for fear of slicing his own skin. Lydia stood. She tapped Derek on the shoulder.

“You’re with me. The others stay and talk.”

_Go,_ Stiles thought when Derek hesitated. _She can use you to keep an eye on us without staying._

Derek handed his keys to Peter and left with Lydia. They climbed into Lydia’s car and drove away. Stiles wasn't sure how Derek broadcasted his experiences but mentally invited Derek in to share if Derek could figure out how. He could.

“I told Lydia what we want,” Theo began. “She thinks you should hear it too.”

“But she didn’t want to hear it again,” Stiles noted.

“We didn’t touch her, but we couldn’t meet you at her house with her mother there. She suggested this location.” Theo looked around. “Not the safest place with the Beast after you, but it seems important to parts of your pack.”

“What do you want?” Allison bit off each word. Her hand clenched the hilt of her ring dagger so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“I want the Beast. I didn’t think you could help with that, but it’s after you, Allison Argent. We can use that to lure it in and catch it.”

“You want to use me as bait.”

“Would your plan be any different? The Beast needs to be stopped. You have the power to make that a little easier.”

Stiles piped up, “You guys kinda got your asses handed to you last time you saw the Beast.”

Rage broke through Theo’s composure for a second. His eyes flashed under furrowed brows. His fangs glinted in the moonlight. He pulled it all back, closing his eyes for a moment to regain control. “I admit we could use some muscle too. You didn’t exactly fare better, Stiles.”

“Don’t trust him,” Stiles told Allison.

“I won't." She turned back to Theo and said, “I can’t speak for the pack, but the Beast must be stopped.” She turned and walked to Derek’s car. Before climbing in, she turned back and said, “Be sure I don’t have to stop you next.”

“Lydia has my number,” Theo called after her.

Stiles, Peter, and Malia followed her to the car.

                _Allison's place,_ Derek told Stiles, and he passed it along to Peter, who rolled his eyes but drove where he was told.

                Allison barely waited for the car the stop before leaping out and running inside.

                _Peter should wait with the car._

                Stiles started, "So, uh, buddy, you know how—"

                "I'm not welcome inside," Peter said.

                "Am I?" Malia asked.

                "Yeah. Peter hasn't always been as nice as he is now. He was not nice at Lydia."

                The way Peter narrowed his eyes at that made Stiles think they had better check on Lydia.

                While Chris Argent hadn't gone for the penthouse apartment, Stiles still had a while to wait on the elevator. He tapped his fingers against the rail, not really sure what else the rail was for. Maybe some people had trouble standing?

                "If you need to keep moving, we could have taken the stairs," Malia pointed out.

                "This is faster. For me anyway. Can you leap up stairwells?"

                She shrugged. "Never tried."

                "Fair enough"

                With a ding, the elevator stopped, letting them off on Allison's floor. Her door was open, cracked, not swung wide, so Stiles and Malia stepped inside. Allison and Lydia sat together on the couch, not hugging, but close enough that Stiles thought they might have been. Derek stood against the wall, watching them with his arms crossed in front of him.

                Lydia was speaking, "You can stop asking, Allison. I’m fine. I promise. I thought if I had to look at their faces any longer I’d scream from frustration. I told them they only had to ask for help.” Lydia rolled her eyes, but her hands shook against the clasp of her purse.

                “I should have been watching them. I should never have let them near you.”

                “It’s okay. Derek told me what happened. You were working. You can’t be everywhere at once. I don’t need a babysitter.”

                Allison pulled Lydia into a hug. “You can’t fight like the others. We shouldn’t leave you vulnerable.”

                “So teach me.”

                Allison pulled back, startled.

                “I can’t fight, so teach me,” Lydia repeated.

                Allison nodded. “I need to call Scott.”

                "Go." Lydia put on a brave smile.

                Allison stepped into one of the other rooms to call. Stiles could only guess she wanted to cut down on background noise rather than find any privacy with werewolves near enough to listen.

                Stiles took Allison's vacated seat, though he left a few more inches between them on the couch.

                "I hear you're okay," he said. "Do you think we should work with them?"

                Lydia nodded. "They need help. I don't think they'll survive without us, but that doesn't mean we should trust them."

                "You don't think they'll survive, or...?"

                "Sitting between them felt like attending their funerals. I think it was real, not just a feeling."

                Stiles nodded.

                "You can sense death," Malia said. "I heard you talking when you had my sister's doll. You said my mother was shooting at me."

                Lydia nodded.

                "Why?"

                "I'm sorry, Malia. She wanted something and thought she could get it by killing you. That's all I know."

                "Okay." Malia sat down to wait. She and Lydia studied each other openly while they waited for Allison to return, but neither spoke again.

                Stiles gave up his seat to Allison when she finished talking to Scott. She didn't say what he thought of Theo now that'd he'd proven less trustworthy than Scott remembered him as a child.

                "I'm staying here tonight," Lydia told Stiles and Malia. "I'll be alright. You can go."

                Derek led the way back to the car and retrieved his keys from Peter.

                "Where should we drop you off?" he asked Malia.

                She shrugged.

                "Where does your father live?"

                She gave vague directions, but Derek found the place. She waved goodbye and went inside.

                "Do I get a ride home too?" Peter asked from the back seat.

                Derek's eyes hardened as he turned back to him. "Allison was right. We need to figure out what happened. You get a ride home. Then you and Stiles get to guess each other's cards until we think of something better."

                _Fun_ , Stiles thought.

"Fun," Peter said aloud. "Do I get to pull a rabbit out of a hat too?"

                Derek snarled. No one told Peter why, but he didn't ask.

                _We'll do what we have to do,_ Derek thought.

                _I know._

In the end, Stiles could only guess Peter's cards if Derek looked at them too. Peter couldn't guess anything at all and started saying "Joker" every time until Derek gave up and drove Stiles home.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Malia shushed Stiles as he started tapping his fingers against the table again. They sat outside a restaurant, sipping on sodas and nibbling at mozzarella sticks as an excuse to keep a table. Across the street, Dumbo ran on the treadmill inside a local gym. He looked sweaty and annoyed. Stiles was refreshed and annoyed. He hadn’t expected to get stuck babysitting the liar with the new girl.

                “He can’t hear us,” Stiles said.

                “But I can.” She spoke without pulling her eyes from Dumbo, like she believed he would fade if she gave him even a second.

                “I’m bored. Dumbo is boring.”

                “He’s running. You’re the one just sitting there.”

                “Thanks, Malia. It means a lot.”

                “Coyotes don’t use sarcasm.”

                “And yet you recognize it.”

                Malia frowned. “Your friends aren’t afraid of you. You aren’t afraid of them. Is that because you trust each other or because you each believe you’d win if you fought?”

                “We’re pack. We trust each other.”

                “Even Peter?”

                “Not really.”

                “But you’re not afraid of him.”

                “I don’t need to be.”

                “So you think you’re stronger than him?”

                Stiles bit at his lip. “Peter isn’t going to fight me.”

                “Then you do trust him.”

                “I guess. The others don’t.”

                “Why?”

                “He killed a bunch of people. He’d kill a bunch more if it would get him anything.” Stiles resumed tapping his fingers against the table. “Peter isn’t going to go out of his way to murder anyone for no reason. He just won’t hesitate or look for another way if it comes down to a fight. Or revenge.”

                “Revenge?”

                “His and Derek’s family was burned alive, but Peter killed the woman responsible. But she came back from the dead. But Peter seems content to leave her with just the one death for now. Or he’s waiting for Chris Argent to do the hard part of finding her before he tries to kill her. I never asked. I was sort of focused on Derek.”

                Malia nodded. Either someone had filled her in, or that made more sense than Stiles thought. “So he loved his family?”

                “How would I know that?”

                “He killed people for them.”

                “They were already dead. He killed people for himself.”

                Malia thought a moment, watching Dumbo as he moved off the treadmill to drink something too bright a shade of pink to have much nutritional value. Stiles’ fingers beat a rhythm against the table.

                She said, “Everyone is conflicted about Peter. Most of you are all friends, but not him. They all talk like they tolerate him for you, but you’re as torn as they are.”

                “Shouldn’t coyotes be less observant?” Stiles scowled.

                “Only if they want to be dead.”

                Stiles nodded understanding. Coyotes were smaller than wolves and less likely to live in a pack. A lone coyote couldn't fight the same way as a pack of wolves. She'd have to be clever where she couldn't be overpowering. Stiles could say the same of himself. Except… He fingered the club carved into his temple.

                Malia looked away from Dumbo for a moment to eye Stiles. She said, “Lydia told me Peter is my father. She said she wouldn’t tell him.”

                “She didn’t tell me either,” Stiles said, “because she was afraid I would tell him, or he would figure it out because Derek would want to know his cousin.”

                “You don’t seem surprised.”

                Stiles shrugged. “I didn't know, but it makes sense."

                “What would Peter do if he knew?”

                “I don’t know. He wants to know who you are. Lydia found you because Peter asked her for help in the first place. Wanting to know isn’t the same as wanting a family again. I don’t know what Peter wants.”

                Malia bit her lip, scraping one claw against the table. “Would he care if I lived or died?”

                “I think so. He cares if I do.”

                “Are you sure?”

                Stiles shook his head. “Not with Peter. He’s my friend because neither of us expects more from the other than we can give.”

                “I don’t—look.” Malia flicked her gaze toward a woman at the laundromat beside the gym. “She’s a werewolf.”

                Nike stood inside, furtively watching the street as she loaded sheets into a dryer. She had a strong, if bony, build and had tied her blonde hair into a tail. She wore jeans and a hoodie.

                “We need to capture her alive,” Stiles said.

                Malia crept away without seeming to sneak. Stiles waved down the waiter for their tab, careful to keep one eye on Nike and the other on Dumbo. Nike’s gaze never settled on Stiles. She watched the front of the gym. When Malia entered the laundromat, Nike’s eyes snapped to her. The place wasn’t crowded, but it was public. They couldn’t fight without being caught.

                They spoke, but Stiles couldn't hear the words. He dropped cash on the table with their bill and started across the street. Nike caught sight of him before he reached her. With a wave and a smile, he turned his back and leaned against the storefront windows, watching for Dumbo as Nike had. He texted Cat to come take over watching Dumbo. He texted Isaac too, just in case Cat was more interested in Nike and her connection to Haha, No.

                A bell chimed as the laundromat door opened. Stiles wasn’t sure why a self-service store needed a bell but had no time to ponder it. Malia and Nike walked out with their arms linked.

                “I’m stronger than she is,” Malia assured him.

                Stiles studied the street. While not exactly bustling, it had plenty of people to see them holding Nike, however genially Malia managed it. Worse, it had several more storefronts for Nike to disappear into if she ran. “We need to get her somewhere secure.”

                “Where?”

                Stiles frowned.

                Nike said, “I’m here to talk to Dumbo. Just talk. I’m not going to cause any trouble.”

                Stiles snorted. “You know exactly how much trouble just talking can cause. Malia, take her to Derek’s loft.”

                “You know I don’t know where that is and that I can’t drive. Who is our backup?”

                Stiles winced. “Cat and Isaac are on their way.” He glanced back at the gym. “We’ll take the chance that Dumbo can sit still a few moments on his own.”

                “You know we have bigger problems than you right now, Joker. I don’t have time for this.”

                “Too bad.”

                Malia pulled Nike into the back of Stiles’ Jeep, and Stiles drove them to the loft. He settled Nike in a circle of mountain ash before contacting the others. Cat and Isaac had found Dumbo. Allison and Lydia were on their way to the loft, together. Gregson and Peter were on their way, separately. Scott wanted him to tell the sheriff. Derek walked through the door while Stiles read texts.

                “Derek,” Nike said. “You can tell Stiles I’m not lying. I only want to talk to Dumbo. I’m not after the rest of you.”

                “Her heartbeat was steady,” Derek told Stiles aloud. “But so is yours when you lie.”

                “What advantage do I gain by turning a passive party into a threat? We have too many enemies right now to start anything with you. I came to Dumbo for help.” Nike snarled, pacing at the edge of the mountain ash.

                “What do you expect Dumbo to do?” Stiles asked.

                “You don’t realize it, but he’s not just some dumb guard. He’s--”

                Stiles cut her off, “Felix Lorraine, yeah, but what do you expect him to do?”

                Nike paused, frozen except for slowly widening eyes. “He told you?”

                “That doesn’t sound like a question from someone who has met Dumbo.”

                “You figured it out. That’s why you were watching him, and that’s why you caught me.” Nike shifted her gaze to the ceiling, studying the rafters before she spoke again. “I made the same mistake the others do when it comes to you, the mistake we keep making despite all the evidence proving you’re too powerful to underestimate. I’m sorry.”

                Stiles stared. She sounded… sincere.

                “I’ve been underestimated too, Joker. I know how it feels. You take advantage of it, but that doesn’t mean you enjoy it.”

                Derek set his hand against Stiles’ forearm, covering his heart tattoo. Stiles hadn’t noticed him approaching. _The others will be here soon. They can handle her._ He put his arm around Stiles and led him upstairs, leaving Malia to watch Nike.

                _It hasn’t been that long,_ Stiles thought. _It shouldn’t feel strange to be in the middle of it again. There’s so much else going on; it should feel like I never left._

_It’s not the same._ Derek led him to the bed and pulled Stiles into his lap. _You’re not the same._

_I don’t think I’m any different._

_A little. Enough. You’re trying._

Stiles let out a short, bitter laugh. _I was trying harder before._

_Practicing with the power they gave you isn’t the same as being the monster they made you. I should have told you that sooner._ Derek knew what Stiles had been doing. He felt the itch of doubt at the back of Stiles’ mind. _I said I’d help you be better. I’m afraid I can’t._

                Stiles pressed his lips to the corner of Derek’s mouth. It could barely be called a kiss. _You already do everything._

_I don’t. I run away. I hide. Then when I come back, it’s to push you._

_You’re too hard on yourself._

_You’re not hard enough on me._ Derek squeezed Stiles’ fingers.

Stiles thought of an innuendo and tried to keep it from Derek. He failed. Derek snorted.

                _Gregson is here. She brought the two soldiers who answered your call._

Stiles stood, but Derek pulled him down into his lap.

                _Malia and Gregson can handle it for now._ Derek rested his forehead in the crook of Stiles’ neck. _Lydia was right not to tell you. You keep almost thinking about Malia being my cousin._

_Shit. She hasn’t decided yet, okay? Just pretend she’s not your cousin unless she decides to tell Peter._

Derek arched an eyebrow.

                _Whatever, just don’t get me in trouble._

_Fine. Nike is trying the same arguments on Gregson as she did on you. Allison and Lydia are here. Peter just pulled up outside._

Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair. He didn’t like staying away.

                _Peter’s coming upstairs._

Stiles slid off of Derek’s lap. It annoyed Derek but shouldn’t have. Peter looked bored as he rounded the stairwell.

                “Where is her partner?” he asked.

                Stiles shrugged. “We were focused on getting her out of there. Cat and Isaac took over Dumbo-duty.”

                Peter glared at Derek for a moment before dropping onto Stiles’ other side at the foot of the bed. “They have a strong telepathic bond. He will know exactly where she is. We can’t hold her.”

                “If she really came here for help, they don’t have the manpower to take her,” Stiles said.

                “We can’t know that. It’s too risky.”

                “Has she said anything else?”

                “You know she hasn’t.” Peter shook his head. “Allison brought wolfsbane. I’m not sure how your coyote friend can stand to stay in that room. But it’s not having much effect on Nike either.”

                _You didn’t mention that._

_Didn’t care._

“Malia, if you’re there because you’re not sure you’re welcome up here, it’s fine.”

                Malia appeared moments later. “Is it always like this in your pack?”

                Peter chuckled. Derek shook his head.

                “I’m not sure,” Stiles admitted.

                “You all spend all of your time confused, don’t you?”

                “Pretty much.”

                She furrowed her brow. “Secrets will make that worse. Peter, you’re my father.”

                “Oh. That’s… practical.” Peter blinked a few times.

                “I was surprised too when Lydia told me. Stiles wasn’t.”

                Peter turned to Stiles.

                “I found out like an hour ago, okay. Don’t even start.”

                Peter turned back to Malia. “I’ve been looking for you. I don’t know what I expected to say when I found you.”

                Malia nodded like she hadn’t expected anything more. “Do you know where my mother is?”

                “I don’t know _who_ your mother is, not yet.”

                _My family is bad at talking,_ Derek noted.

                _You fit right in._

Malia turned to Derek. “That makes us cousins.”

                Derek asked, “Does this mean you want to stay with our pack?”

                “Yes.”

                Peter almost said something more, but Malia cut him off.

                "I already have a father. I live with him, and I love him. You don't get to take his place, and if you try I will never speak to you again."

                "Why would I do that? People can have more than one father."

                Stiles coughed. Peter glared at him.

                _I almost think Malia will be able to handle him,_ Derek thought.

                _I'm his best friend, and I can't even handle him._

"You're thinking about me," Peter said. "Fuck. I can tell you're thinking about me."

                "I mean, given the topic of conversation in this room, it's sort of inevitable that I would—"

                Peter grabbed Stiles by his jaw, shutting him up. He leaned forward, blue eyes wide. "Don't. It's not cute. You know what I meant." He let Stiles go and pulled back slowly.

                _Don't worry,_ Derek thought. _I think it's cute._

_Not helping._

_Not trying to. How can he tell what you're thinking?_

Stiles scratched at his neck. he shook his head. "The bond should be broken. It's one-on-one, and I am absolutely bonded to Derek. Is it possible Sorokin did something to you? I know they 'increased Derek's psychic potential' or whatever. Did he do that to you?"

                "No."

                "I can't read minds," Derek said. _Other than yours, I mean._

                "Peter, are you sure? He had complete control over you for a while. He could have done anything."

                "He was busy trying to save his own skin. I was essentially hired muscle."

                "But you were sleeping with him."

                Malia's eye widened, and she left the room.

                Peter sneered. "Casual sex, Stiles. Many single people have it. I've been single most of my life, so without it, I'd be a little lonely."

                Derek shook his head. "I'm going to check on Malia."

                _You're running away._

_I am running away. You can talk about sex with my uncle without me. Not sex with my uncle. The topic of sex, discussed with my uncle. God, I'm running away._

_But I so rarely see you flustered._

Derek flipped him off and left.

                "Now you made them uncomfortable," Peter said.

                Stiles picked at a stray thread on his sleeve. "If we're still connected, that could mean everyone who has a broken bond is still connected."

                "It could mean I'm still connected to Dimitri," Peter spat.

                "You were complaining about me in your head because complaining about Sorokin would make the others freak out."

                "I don't mind you in my head," Peter admitted. "I know you won't screw with it."

                "Did you just say you trust me with your brain?"

                "Stiles, I trust you with my life."

                Stiles' hands froze. He didn't know what to say. Peter wasn't supposed to trust anyone.

                "Relax, Stiles," Peter said. "You don't have to do anything. I don't expect you to say you trust me or to go out of your way to protect me. I'm not an idiot."

                "Is that a backward insult? Are you saying you trust me, but I'm not worth it?"

                "Oh, good, you've recovered."

                Stiles glared but couldn't put much heart into it.

                "I haven't felt anything from Dimitri. So far as I can tell, you haven't felt anything from me," Peter said, pausing long enough for Stiles to nod confirmation. "If the bond is mutual, how do we explain a one-way connection that should be thoroughly broken?"

                "I broke it. Maybe you can feel me because you didn't?"

                "Did Derek feel anything when you broke his bond?"

                Stiles shook his head. "But you didn't either for a long time. I called for help because I thought the Beast was going to kill us. That was the first you felt anything, right?"

                Peter shrugged. "I've always been good at picking up your mood, but I attributed it to chemosignals. That's probably right, but now I can't be sure anymore."

                Stiles thought a moment. "Have you ever known I was faking when no one else did?"

                Peter shrugged.

                "You're very good at this."

                "Your sarcasm helps," Peter said.

                "Can the others hear us?"

                "If they tried. They're distracted. It seems Nike shared some vague warning with you and Derek once and thinks that should be the basis of a solid trust."

                Stiles hesitated. "So is that a 'no'?"

                "I wouldn't say anything incriminating," Peter advised. "But merely embarrassing should be safe."

                Stiles chuckled. "We're really close friends. So far as I know, you don't have any other friends. Is there even a little chance that your side of what used to be our bond is stronger because I'm singularly important to you?"

                Peter stared steadily through clear blue eyes that slowly narrowed into an annoyed glare. When he spoke, his voice strained to remain steady and cold. "Yes."

                "I honestly thought you were gonna lie right there," Stiles admitted.

                "If I'm stuck with you because I care about you, it means I don't have to worry about Dimitri because I harbor no affection for him."

                "I can't prove that would matter. It's just a hypothesis that I'm not sure I can even test."

                Peter half sneered before controlling his expression. "I want to figure it out. I need to know Dimitri can't reach me, and I don't..." He paused, searching for words. "I haven't gotten much, but it still feels like spying on you. What if it gets worse?"

                "I am suitably honored that the thought of spying on me disgusts you, especially given that I know you sometimes spy on people voluntarily."

                "This works better when we're both being assholes than when you throw my confessions back in my face."

                Stiles flinched. "I don't know how else to respond. It's a reflex. I'm sorry. You know I'll protect you from Sorokin. I plan on killing him again, but short of that, I won't let him use you anymore."

                "I know."

"It was my fault he used you in the first place. I'm so sorry, Peter. I am. I don't talk much to people; I'm not good at it. I'm sorry."

                "That's plenty, Stiles. If this gets too serious, we'll both be uncomfortable."

                Stiles waited a moment before confirming, "That was to pay me back for doing it to you, wasn't it?"

                "Absolutely."

                "Great. I deserved that." He ran a hand through his hair. "If you feel anything from me, say so. Maybe it will help us find what's causing it. Maybe you'll feel less like you're invading my privacy."

                "By telling you how I'm invading your privacy?"

                "Nobody's perfect." Stiles shrugged.

                Peter looked about to say something but shook his head. He stood and cocked his head toward the stairs. "Let's see how they're doing."

                Stiles nodded and let Peter help him up.

                Downstairs, it seemed they hadn't made much progress, though everyone looked tired.

                "Joker, finally," Nike said. "Tell your hunter that Watchtower is hardly a single entity anymore. Just because I came from one faction doesn't mean I'm your enemy."

                Stiles rolled his eyes. "Is Sorokin with your faction?"

                Nike looked taken aback. "You're the last person I expected to call him that."

                "That's not an answer."

                "Yes. He's with us. So are some of yours, you know. Most people assume you and No are allies since you've worked so closely together."

                Stiles couldn't say she was wrong. "If we're not enemies, you can tell me what you're here to talk to Dumbo about."

                "If we're not enemies, you can listen when I tell him."

                "You're not getting close to him. Dumbo's under my protection."

                "Funny. I thought you were under his."

                Stiles shrugged. "Where's Sorokin?"

                "Far away. He's not stupid enough to come here right now."

                "But you are."

                Nike laughed. "I'm in significantly less danger than he is. He made you; that's why you hate him. _You_ made me, Joker, or at least you helped. And I know you've been trying to live by your true alpha's moral code. You don't want to kill me."

                "But I'm not above handing you to the police."

                Nike rolled her eyes. "And explain how you got me? No. I'm willing to work with you. I have information, the least of which is that your beacon is malfunctioning. It's drawing the supernatural into town and repelling it simultaneously. It makes entering town very difficult, so I'd like that effort not to have gone to waste."

                "I don't care about beacons," Stiles said. He threw up his hands and left. He wasn't the right person to lead the interrogation anyway. He'd never been good at it.

 

**~.x.~**

Scott came into town with a haggard look about him. He kept rubbing at his chest, but so far as Stiles could tell, he hadn't been injured. Before he'd even told his mother he was home, Scott ordered them to set up a meeting with Theo. He ordered it with eyes flashing red.

                They met where Theo had met the pack last, where the Hale house once stood in the woods. Scott brought Stiles, Allison, and Derek. Theo brought Hayden, Tracy, and Lucas. They stood facing each other like enemies, but Scott stepped forward and held his hand out to shake Theo's. Theo accepted with a ready smile. Scott smiled too, and stepped back. That was the least friendly handshake and the most antagonistic smiles Stiles had ever seen coincide.

                "You should have just talked to us from the start," Scott said. "We wanted to help."

                "I've had bad experiences with people claiming they wanted to help. The last ones turned me into a werewolf-werecoyote hybrid and told me I still wasn't good enough." Theo chuckled to himself. "Lydia and Allison already gave me the lecture. I see my mistake, and I'm here to make it right."

                Scott nodded. "What do you know about the Beast?"

                "It's a chimera, like us, but it doesn't know who it is or who it used to be. Not yet. It transforms differently than we do, surrounding itself with smoke to become the Beast. I have something I think can dissipate the smoke, but I won't know until we test it. If it works, we'll only have to fight a human."

                "What is it?" Stiles asked, not content with Theo's vague references.

                "A set of talons pulled from another chimera who the Doctors already killed. They're sort of blue and glowy. We'll have to weaken the Beast before I can get in to use them, so they're not a perfect solution even if they work."

                "Can I see them?"

                "No."

                "Why do I trust they exist if I can't see them?"

                "I didn't bring them, Stiles. You'll have to take my word for it. I can show you later. We have more important things to discuss."

                Lucas coughed. Stiles wasn't sure if he meant it to cover a laugh or not.

                "He's right," Scott said. "I want to be clear we are going to subdue the human inside, save them if we can. We aren't killing anyone."

                "I'm not trying to kill anyone," Theo said. "I'm trying to save people from being killed by the Beast. If we can save him too, that's great, but I'm not going to give my own life to do it."

                "I'm not asking you to," Scott assured him. "You won't be alone. We'll protect each other."

                Stiles dug at his ear. It had started ringing as Theo spoke.

                _I hear it too,_ Derek thought.

                "Something's wrong," Stiles said aloud, just in time for three tall figures in masks to stalk forward.

                Theo spun when he saw the Doctors to look at his companions. Hayden did the same. Lucas fell to the ground, coughing black ichor.

                "No," Theo shouted to the Doctors. "Not another one. I need them."

                The one with the cane turned to him. "His condition worsens."

                "It's not silver yet. He has time. Give him time."

                "He is a failure."

                "HE'S MINE," Theo roared. "Your perigee syzygy coincides with an eclipse this time. You can't use it to power your precious success, so Lucas failing won't affect it. I still don't see how it could anyway."

                The Doctor turned away from Theo to stare at Allison. Theo followed his gaze.

                "You know why it's after her," Theo said.

                The Doctor turned back to him. "You are expendable. Do not interfere." He stalked toward Lucas.

                Allison fired her bow, but the arrow couldn't pierce whatever strange armor the Doctors wore. Derek lunged forward, but the tallest Doctor caught his fist.

                He tilted his head at Derek. "You approach our frequency." He looked at Stiles then too.

                Stiles tried stunning them, but his talisman had no effect. Scott and Theo fought the third Doctor together, both trying to pass her to protect Lucas. The first Doctor threw Hayden back when she tried to fight. He pulled a sword from his cane and pierced Lucas through his throat. All three Doctors turned and left, disappearing like glitching pictures in the night. The ringing in Stiles' ears faded with the clicking of their gears.


	4. Pain

"Wake up, sir. You're drooling." Gregson's voice cut through—something. Stiles lost the dream as he woke.

                "Whusup?" he mumbled, wiping spit from his chin.

                "I need you to come with me. Eddie found out about Nike, and he's going to talk to her."

                "Damnit." Stiles stumbled to his feet. "Where's Derek?" His bed was empty once Stiles climbed out.

                "I don't know. Put some damn clothes on."

                "Oh, shit, sorry." Stiles scrambled for a pair of boxers. He dressed quickly and followed Gregson from the house. She drove him to Derek's loft, but Stiles led her in by the back entrance to keep Dumbo from noticing him. He just hoped Nike wasn't paying close attention. They had decided on the way to listen in rather than stop Dumbo. Stiles didn't mention it to Derek because he wasn't sure he'd approve.

                Stiles led Gregson through the loft until he found a vantage point to watch Nike. Dumbo had already reached her. Rivera and Cat lay on the floor, both breathing softly. Pink dust surrounded Cat, mostly likely wolfsbane to put her to sleep. Stiles couldn't see how Dumbo had knocked out Rivera. She was human. The wolfsbane would have had less effect. Dumbo had set a chair backwards in front of Nike and straddled it. Stiles could only see part of Dumbo's face but thought he was grinning.

                "Dude, you came to the wrong flying elephant," Dumbo said.

                "Do you think what Cole did to him is safe?" Nike asked. "For all we know he's slowly combusting and will take the whole town with him when he blows. No has studied some of Cole's other survivors. He can help Joker."

                "I'm good at lies, Nike. I know Dimitri isn't worried about Stiles' wellbeing."

                Nike arched an eyebrow. "You know No well enough to realize he wants to control whatever power Joker has. That means understanding it, and making sure it won't drive him to self destruct. Several of the others have killed themselves pushing too hard. He's in danger. That is no lie."

                "No is a stupid name. It gets so grammatically weird. Like I know roughly why he went with it, but it gets confusing. Stiles used to call him Haha, No, right? Can't we go with that?"

                "Felix, I don't have time for this."

                "Felix is also a stupid name. Call me Dumbo if you have to call me anything."

                "Dumbo, then. Stop playing dumb." Frustration sharpened Nike's voice. "Kate has regrouped with some of her soldiers to keep the hunters off her. Yukio has amassed a following so large I'm starting to worry he may reunify Watchtower under his command. Brenna, thank God, is hounding him, attacking him in a thousand small skirmishes meant more to distract and annoy than anything else because she hates him even more than she hates Smiler. I know Joker has a small army of his own, but I don't know what you have. You could make all the difference in this battle."

                "Well, my girlfriend kicks some serious ass, and my boss is a serious asshole."

                "No told me you're Felix Lorrain. He's known you for years, and he knows your real face, not just the surrogate you send to board meetings for you. He thinks Delilah might know it too, but he doubts anyone else on the board does. He let slip once that Cole might, which is strange."

                Dumbo snarled. "Do you think _Dimitri_ is going to win this? He's playing you. He's playing everyone. Even if he comes out on top, what he builds won't be Watchtower, and it won't have a place for you and Smiler. If you think Smiler will be president again, think again. You said I've known _Haha, No_ for years, and that's true. He's going to betray you."

                "I'm not stupid. We're playing him as much as he's playing us. He sent me alone so he could keep Smiler as a hostage because he knows it as well as I do. He's the only one to protect us for now though. The other factions would sooner kill us, and Joker isn't strong enough."

                "Stiles is strong enough to do whatever the hell he wants. He just needs the right motivation."

                "What's his motivation for protecting you?"

                "I'm part of his team. He claimed us fair and square."

                "You're part of the board, Dumbo. We all know it. Why keep up this charade?"

                Dumbo stood calmly and threw his chair at her. "Everyone knows exactly shit about me, Nike. Would you like my first fully honest statement in years? I hate Watchtower. My entire life has been that damned cult, and I want out. Stiles will give me that. Stiles will _protect me_ while he does it. He has his little friends following me around to catch anyone who attacks me. If he wasn't taken, I'd seduce the bastard to make it easier for him to keep an eye on me."

                "Is that why you snuck out here in the middle of the night to speak to me alone?"

                Dumbo laughed. "He can be a little smothering, but that's mostly because he's too smart to trust me. If I side with Dimitri, Stiles is my enemy. I won't make Stiles my enemy. Besides, my girlfriend is on the guy like white on brown rice."

                "I'm not sure what that means."

                "I don't care. When I'm obtuse, it's on purpose. I thought you said Dimitri told you about me?"

                "He did. He said you'd only tell me anything true if I made you mad."

                "Damn. To be fair, I've always been predictable. Dimitri just never cared enough to bother. We weren't enemies until I sided with Stiles."

                "Do you always call him Stiles?"

                "Lol, no."

                "Did you just say 'lol'? Out loud?"

                "Lol, yeah."

                "You're determined then?" Nike asked with a resigned sigh.

                "You wouldn't be using disappointed voice unless you knew I was. I'm leaving now. If I know Sara, she and Stiles are here. I doubt they have much to say to you, but I also bet they'd be pissed if I killed you. That means you live. Like I said, I won't make Stiles my enemy." Dumbo spun on his heel and strutted from the room. Nike set up the chair he'd thrown at her and sat inside her ash circle.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles stared at the glass of water Lydia offered him. He wasn't thirsty. He was angry. The others—Scott, Allison, Derek, Isaac, Gregson, Cat, and Malia—lounged across the furniture in Lydia's oversized sitting room. Her mother had left town to visit relatives, so Lydia had offered a more spacious meeting place for the pack. Not everyone was present; not everyone could be. Danny and Trick were with Dumbo, keeping him occupied with Mario Kart. The twins had made it into town, but Scott sent them to help Tuanwend guard Nike. Peter was watching Theo with Rivera. Lydia shoved the cup forward, and Stiles grabbed it to keep her from hitting him in the face.

                "Nike could lead us to Sorokin," Stiles insisted. "She's not going to tell us anything."

                Allison shook her head. "Nike will expect to be followed. She won't return until she loses us."

                "So we be sneakier than she is. We caught her off guard once already."

                Scott said, "Except for attempts on Dumbo, Watchtower has stayed out of Beacon Hills. We can't afford to draw them out with the Dread Doctors and the Beast running loose."

                "So we sit here and wait for them to come for us again?" Cat demanded. "Taking the fight to them is the only thing that's worked for us."

                "Is 'working for us' what you call that thing on Stiles' face?" Isaac asked.

                Cat bristled. "Since the battle we caused fractured all of Watchtower, yes, it is."

                Isaac looked entirely unconvinced and squinted at Stiles' face for good measure.

                "We can't afford to leave town and attack," Scott said. "Theo and the chimeras can't stop the Beast alone, and they may all be dying. We have to take care of enemies here first. I'm sure we'll face Watchtower again eventually, but if it happens before Beacon Hills is safe, we are going to lose on both fronts."

                "We're not alone," Stiles says. "Or we won't be. Gregson's started finding others who would side with us, and Setter is pretty sure the ones watching her are from Sorokin's group too."

                Gregson nodded confirmation.

                Lydia closed her eyes, teeth clenched, as they spoke. She turned to Stiles and opened her eyes to stare straight at him. "Someone will die. If you face Sorokin again, one of you will die. I don't know who." She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut again.

                "I'll make sure it's him," Stiles promised.

                "I'm not sure you will," Lydia said.

                Allison stood. "The Beast is our priority. It has to be. Every day, they find more corpses. It's killing people, and we have to stop it."

                Isaac raised a hand. "Seconded."

                "Allison's right," Scott agreed. "We have to stop the killing."

                "Then you can start right now," Hayden said as she and Corey appeared against the wall. Black ichor dribbled down Corey's chin. "They're going to kill him."

                Hayden supported Corey's weight. His skin was pale and sickly. Stiles wondered how he had managed to camouflage them in his state. Scott hurried to the chimeras' side and helped Hayden move Corey to lie on one of the couches.

                "What's wrong with him?" Scott asked.

                "I don't know. The Doctors just say we're failures and whether our conditions improve or worsen. They don't say why or how." Hayden shook her head and brushed hair from Corey's forehead. It was sticky with sweat.

                "Why bring him to us?" Stiles asked. "We didn't save Lucas."

                "Not all of you were there. I'm hoping you're stronger all together."

                "I'm hoping it too, maybe even a little harder," Corey said with a cough. Ichor spilled over Lydia's couch.

                "Is there anything you can tell us about the Doctors that might give us an advantage?" Allison asked.

                Hayden said, "If we knew any weakness, we'd beat them on our own before they culled us. I know they operate on some kind of otherworldly electronic frequency. I know they call themselves the Surgeon, the Pathologist, and the Geneticist. They're strong. They can appear as if from nowhere, but that clicking sound always precedes and follows them. Theo says they're old, and they use a Nazi alpha's power to keep them alive."

                "I don't suppose they like to go by Surge, Pat, and Gene?" Stiles asked.

                "This isn't the time for jokes," Hayden hissed. "My friend is dying."

                "Sorry. I don't really know a way to deal with death that doesn't involve either jokes or killing, and Scott frowns on one a little more than the other."

                "I'll shut him up," Derek said, pushing Stiles away from the group.

                "Does Theo know Corey's sick?" Scott asked.

                Hayden nodded. "He sounded angry but said there was nothing we could do."

                "Maybe if we all work together, there is. Call your pack here. I have three more werewolves that I can bring in, but that's everyone."

                "Scott," Gregson said, "Watchtower soldiers are trained to fight shifters. We can help."

                "You will be helping. I'll need you to guard Nike and our human packmates. I can't afford to leave them unprotected. Have Dumbo help too," Scott ordered. "We'll need all the help we can get. And the Beast may attack somewhere while we're fighting the Doctors. We need you to keep an eye out."

                "My men will, but I'll be with Stiles."

                Scott nodded his acceptance.

                Theo arrived before Peter and the twins. He brought Tracy and Josh.

                "Where's Noah?" Hayden asked.

                "Dead," Theo spat.

                Hayden flinched.

                "At this rate, you'll all be dead before the full moon." Theo clenched his hand into a fist at his side.

                "But not you?" Allison asked.

                "I'm a success, just not the one they were hoping for. I won't get sick." Theo shook his head and turned to Corey. "There's nothing we can do for him. I've tried everything. They're going to come for him. He's going to die." He turned away.

                "I'm not leaving him," Hayden insisted.

                 "Then don't, and try not to let them kill you too." Theo left. Tracy followed.

                Josh looked after them but turned back to Corey and Hayden. "I want to help," he said.

                They didn't have much time to plan.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles watched the tree line. They had brought Corey to the same place they'd last seen the Dread Doctors: the old Hale property. Stiles couldn't see the main road, only the smaller one winding up to where the house used to be. Shadows moved in the woods, cast by moonlight and wind. Corey coughed, wheezed, and caught his breath. Hayden murmured words Stiles couldn't catch. She knelt by Corey's side, ready to move him after the Doctors arrived. Josh stared anxiously into the woods from where he stood near the other chimeras. The pack formed a perimeter, spreading outward from Corey, watching the woods, the road, the sky. Stiles and Gregson waited with Allison near the cars. Allison had armed them from her father's arsenal, though Stiles felt off with the weight of a rifle in his hands. He had more practice with knives. He had the most practice with his bare hands and a grin.

                When Corey coughed again, silver liquid gushed past his lips in place of black.

                "What is that?" Scott asked. Derek had to share the sound with Stiles because he spoke so softly.

                Hayden answered, "Mercury. It means he's out of time."

                Ringing in Stiles' ears warned him before the telltale clicking reached the others. "They're coming," he said, voice loud enough to carry. No one questioned how he knew. They stood ready.

                The Doctors appeared from the west. They didn't step out of the trees. They moved in and out of sight like a glitched image, each time slightly closer to the pack until they solidified. Malia charged with a roar, Derek at her side. The Surgeon swatted Malia aside. The Pathologist pounded Derek back.

                The Doctors threw back each attack, moving steadily toward Corey.

                "His condition is terminal," the Surgeon explained, as Hayden lifted Corey against her chest, backing slowly from the doctors.

                "He's my friend," Hayden pleaded. "He never hurt anyone."

                Footprints sounded behind Stiles, away from the fight. He turned. From the tree line, a young man stepped out, the same young man who watched Allison in the cafe. Stiles stepped forward, motioning for him to leave.

                "Get out of here," Stiles said.

                Josh tried to push the Doctors back. Hayden glance up at Stiles' voice. "Mason?" she asked.

                "They need to get out of there," Allison muttered.

                "It's not safe here, kid," Stiles said, stepping toward him. "If you're in some kind of trance again, now is a good time to snap out of it."

                "Now, now!" Hayden called from the fight.

                "Clear," Allison confirmed.

                Shadows poured from the young man, forming around him in the shape of the Beast.

                "Shit," Stiles had time to say before the Beast hurled him back.

                Back into the area they'd cleared around the Doctors. Back into the blast radius.

                Stiles heard the explosion. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his arms over his head. The world convulsed around him. He knew they'd set a trap. He knew it was a small bomb. But he felt... He felt the world ending.

                Dirt and rock flew outward from the blast. Cement foundation cracked and scattered. Stiles was small and soft. The blast pushed him back before he'd landed. Something crashed against his arms, which barely held strong enough to keep it from smashing in his skull. He spun, still in the air, with the force of it. The next piece hit him in the gut. The air rushed from his lungs. He couldn't get it back. Stiles opened his mouth. Only dirt filled it. He couldn't breathe. The force smashed him against the ground. It smashed him again, again, as debris landed on him.

                It stopped.

                Stiles breathed in. He pulled his arms from his face. Even the slow movement was agony. The left one bent at the middle of the forearm. Stiles breathed out. He tried to sit. He couldn't. Bending his neck, Stiles tried to see what pinned him down. Rebar. Through his gut. Coated in blood. Stiles breathed in. Cement blocked one of his legs from view. He tried to wiggle it. Couldn't. Couldn't feel his toes. He shuffled with his other leg, but it hurt to move.

                He lifted the cement, hurled it away from him and straight into the Geneticist as she tried to stand, stumbling after the force of the blast.

                Stiles breathed out. His foot faced backward. He could sort of move the leg. It hurt. He looked back at the rebar impaling him.

                _Stop,_ Derek thought. _If you pull it out, you may bleed out. Wait there. I'm coming._

                The Beast stepped into Stiles' view, looming over Allison as she backed away firing her bow. It stopped, tilted its head. The smoke faded around it, but instead of the teenager Stiles had seen before, a man stood before Allison. He had white skin, dark hair, and the expression a ghost must wear when seeing another ghost.

                "Marie-Jeanne? How is that you?" He spoke with a French accent.

                "My name is Allison Argent." She took aim and fired.

                The smoke returned, forming into a massive hand to catch Allison's arrow, and behind it the massive wolf. The arrow screamed. The Beast snarled and threw it away, shaking its head to clear it. Allison continued firing. No one came to help her. Derek hadn't reached Stiles. A massive chunk of cement crowded Stiles, blocking his view of anyone but Allison and the Beast. It had barely missed crushing his head. Stiles frowned at it. It rose, shaking loose clods of dirt and rock.

                He hurled it at the Beast.

                Stiles pushed them both back until the Beast crashed into a huge old oak. The bark splintered. The Beast howled. It shoved the chunk of foundation aside and staggered forward. Allison stared at Stiles with wide eyes.

                With his view cleared, Stiles could see the Doctors fighting the pack. The blast hadn't even slowed them. The Surgeon made his way steadily toward Allison despite Scott, Cat, and Isaac's attempts to hold him back. Ethan and Aiden hit the ground as the Pathologist beat them down. Josh and Hayden hovered near where they'd moved Corey to. The Geneticist fought nearby against Derek and Peter. Gregson crouched with Lydia, speaking to her as Lydia stared out at the chaos.

                _Don't do it,_ Derek ordered, sensing Stiles' thoughts. _Wait for me._

                The Geneticist threw Derek back into Peter, knocking both off their feet. She advanced on the chimeras. The Beast charged. It passed Allison. It's eyes focused on Stiles.

                "Your sister erased your name from history, Sebastien Valet," Allison screamed. "Only Marie-Jeanne's descendants remember it. Even we may forget soon."

                The Beast paused. It turned toward Allison and howled.

                "I'll make sure we forget," she promised.

                She was trying to save Stiles. No one could help Stiles.

                _Allison will keep the Beast busy,_ Derek promised. _You can't move. Please wait._

Derek had stood, but the Geneticist broke his leg and pushed him down again. He would heal sooner than Stiles.

                Stiles pulled the rebar from his gut, shrieking with pain. It had been buried three feet into the ground below him. He sat. His palm pressed against the hole in his middle, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Stiles still held the bar in the air above him. He hurled that at the Beast too. He hurled it through its middle, right where it had taken Stiles. The Beast screamed. It leapt at Stiles.        

                Stiles pushed against it. The Beast flew backward. Stiles couldn't stand. He tried. He screamed with the pain in his broken bones and the hole running through him. The pain coursed through him. The pain became him. He snapped the trunk of the tree he'd splintered earlier and crushed the Beast with it.

                _Stiles, you need to stop._

He couldn't stand, but he could lift himself. The Geneticist twisted Peter's arm behind his back, broke it. Stiles lifted her and broke her in half.

                Too late, Stiles saw the cane flying at him. He tried to catch it. Missed. It pierced his shoulder. Stiles pulled it out. He bled. His vision grew dark. Stiles screamed. He lost track of the battle, lost his pain, lost consciousness.

 

**~.x.~**

When he woke, it wasn't on the ground bleeding out. Stiles groaned at the familiarity of the hospital ceiling. The room was dark. A shadow stood from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. Not Derek. Stiles would have felt him. Derek was asleep at home. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Stiles saw Peter watching him.

                "You father and Derek are safe," Peter said. "They've been at your side for three days straight. Melissa sent them home to eat and wash up."

                "Three days?"

                "You really fucked yourself up this time."

                "The pain made me strong though."

                "Derek says he told you to stop." Peter worded it like a statement but spoke it like a question.

                "At least three times, I think. I... couldn't." Stiles gritted his teeth against the memory. It was clear, unlike the days after Cole first gave him this power.

                "Your left leg is broken, Your right is too, in about six more places than the left. Your left arm is broken, the right fractured, so that's casts for all four limbs. You fractured a few ribs and broke at least one. I might have spaced out a little while I listened in. You have stitches closing the holes through your stomach and shoulder. Don't sit up. You lost a lot of blood. The doctors are amazed to say you'll be fine."

                Stiles snorted. "Of course I will."

                "I had to sit through Melissa impressing on your father and Derek what it means that you'll be fine. Other humans wouldn't be. Any other human would walk with a cane for the rest of their life if they walked at all. You almost died before we got to the hospital and again while they operated on you."

                "I can't change that now," Stiles said.

                "I'm sorry."

                "Non-sequitur," Stiles said.

                "I wasn't strong enough to beat the Doctors and reach you."

                "No one else was either. Were they? I kinda passed out."

                Peter shook his head. "I'm going to go away a while. When I come back, I'll be stronger."

                "Is there a secret werewolf training retreat in the mountains somewhere?"

                "No, and I'm serious."

                "Don't go," Stiles insisted. "You don't need to be stronger. _I'm_ strong. You can get stronger here. Allison loves shooting arrows at me; just think how much more fun she'd have shooting you."

                "What I'm going to do isn't something I can do here, Stiles."

                "I don't like when you're gone."

                "I know."

                "What if you don't come back?"

                Peter smiled, but it was bittersweet. "You're my only friend. You're here with the only family I have remaining. I'll always come back to you, Stiles."

                He leaned forward to kiss Stiles' forehead and left.

 

**~.x.~**

When Stiles woke next, the sun shone through the windows, and Derek and Stiles' father sat at either side of the bed. Derek said his name aloud the instant Stiles woke.

                "What happened?" Stiles demanded. He'd been too tired to think straight when he saw Peter. He hadn't thought to ask. "Is everyone okay?"

                "Yes," Derek said. "With you out, none of us could fight the Beast back. He killed the Doctors. Gregson could see something; she didn't explain it a way that made sense to me, but it meant the teenager was still alive inside the Beast. Do you remember when Lydia stopped Jackson when he was the kanima?"

                "Yeah. Why?"

                "She drew Mason—that was the Beast's host—back by calling his name so loud it knocked the rest of us to the ground. Allison used the Surgeon's sword to stab the smoke. I'm not sure why that worked."

                "I think that's my line," Stiles' dad added. "None of that makes sense."

                "Corey is alive, but he's still sick," Derek continued. "Hayden says they'll take care of him. She won't say how."

                "Okay." Stiles wasn't sure he cared what happened to the chimeras. "So Lydia can physically push things with her voice?"

                Derek cracked a smile at that. He nodded.

                "How come none of these words have been in my head?" Stiles asked.

                _This._ Stiles cringed in pain at the pressure of a single word.

                Aloud, Derek said, "Concussion. It will heal." Peter hadn't mentioned that. He had admitted to paying less than full attention. Stiles supposed his list of injuries was too long to be very interesting to someone who knew they would heal.

                "Plus it's polite," Stiles' father added, "since you two aren't the only ones here."

                "Love you, Dad," Stiles said.

                "Love you too, kid. Since you're happy, I think now's as good a time as any to tell you I handed Nike over to Raphael."

                "What the hell, Dad? She was mine." Stiles pushed himself to sit only to fall right back against his pillow, grimacing against the pain. He didn't feel like it made him strong now.

                "People can't own other people," his dad said.

                "Not the point." Stiles' voice came out strained.

                "I know you think you can take this fight on, but it won't be any time soon." He stood. "I'm going to tell the doctor you're awake and in pain. Maybe he'll give you more morphine. Maybe he'll tell you how long it'll be before you even get to ride around in a wheelchair." He left the room looking dangerously smug.

                "How long is that?" Stiles asked.

                "Maybe we should wait for the doctor," Derek said.

                "How long?"

                "It'll be even longer after that before you start hobbling around with a cane. Then longer before you can walk."

                "I hate you so much. How long?"

                "All together? Months. At least. Probably years of physical therapy."

                "Stop grinning," Stiles snarled. He leaned forward and fell back again. The room spun. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuck."

                "If you're up to it, a lot of the others are here. They want to see you lying there helpless."

                "I hate you, Derek. Give me a kiss and send them in."

                Derek chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss against Stiles' lips.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles could have fed himself. Probably. Sometimes he dropped the spoon. There were enough things he couldn't do at all; they could at least let him _try_ to feed himself. Gregson made airplane noises with the spoon.

                "I swear to God, Gregson. My mouth still works. I will bite you."

                "As if you could reach me, sir. Open up."

                Stiles tried to scowl and open his mouth at the same time. He didn't think it worked. Gregson snickered.

                "Stop enjoying this," Stiles ordered.

                "Absolutely not. Do you prefer the choo choo?"

                "I prefer death. Send me back to the battle. I'll fuck it up worse this time."

                Gregson laughed warmly. "You'll have plenty of chances to die yet, sir. The Jesters have started answering your call. None of them even seem self-conscious about the stupid name they gave themselves."

                "Pretty sure you're technically one of them."

                "You too, sir."

                "Yeah, but no one ever accused me of good taste."

                Gregson fed him another spoonful of pudding. "I've told them to stay away from Beacon Hills for now. We don't need to draw attention to ourselves with you bedridden. Many of them are hidden within other factions anyway. They're more valuable as moles. Eddie pretends not to know where they came from, but I keep finding contact information for more people lying around the apartment. The last one was inside the cap of my grapejuice. He can write really tiny."

                “I assume they’re useful people?”

                “Some of them. They’re Watchtower people. They’re _his_ people, and soon they’ll be yours.”

                She didn't speak for a while as Stiles finished his pudding (with a great deal of help). She wiped his mouth with a napkin. Stiles doubted there'd even been anything to clean. She just liked making him feel helpless.

                "I'm getting better with the eye," she said.

                "It works well?"

                Gregson nodded. "I'll protect it, but you'll never be safe so long as you have enemies."

                "Which is why we're going to crush them," Stiles agreed.

                "I can see what you see," Gregson said. "If I close both eyes and meditate, my eye can connect to one of your eyes and see through it. I'll protect it with my life, but if I die, they'll always be able to find you."

                Stiles nodded his head, careful to move slowly. "Don't die."

                "Trust me, sir. That's my plan."

               

**~.x.~**

Stiles leaned heavily on his cane, breathing hard even from the light effort of walking from Derek's car to the front of Trick's tattoo parlor. Derek opened the door for him, and Stiles hobbled inside.

                "Dude, why are you standing?" Trick shouted as soon as he entered. They were with a customer, going over sketches.

                Stiles dropped heavily into the couch Trick had set out for clients to wait. He winced at the pain and reminded himself to drop less heavily next time.  He massaged his knee, though the pressure made less of a difference when he already had a brace on. "I'm not."

                "Asshole." Trick shook their head then turned back to the blue-haired hipster who apparently needed an indigo ouroboros hanging from the branch of a cherry tree in full bloom. They spoke for  a few more minutes and set up an appointment before Trick stalked over to Stiles. "What do you want?" they asked.

                "A tattoo. You're a tattoo artist. How is that a question?"

                Trick rolled their eyes.

                "Werewolves can absorb people's pain. I want a tattoo that can help me do it too."

                "Why?" Trick sounded genuinely confused.

                Stiles let his eyes drift to Derek before he answered. Derek scowled. He didn't approve, but he'd admitted the alternative was worse.

                "Pain fuels this." Stiles set his hand against the talisman on his temple, the only one Trick hadn't given him. "Better to absorb pain someone already feels than to inflict it on myself in a fight."

                "Shit, you are a fucked up dude. You're out of suits though."

                Derek's scowl deepened.

                "I want barbed wire wrapped around my wrist, tearing into the skin and holding a joker card in place."

                "Do you have money this time?" Trick's gaze shifted to Derek, no doubt aware he had the money Stiles didn't.

                "I'm paying for it," Derek confirmed.

                "We'll all be paying for it before long," Trick said. "I'll call when I have something for you to look at. Go sleep. And eat something. You look like a broken twig had a baby with expired milk."

                "What does even that look like?" Stiles asked.

                "You," Derek answered for them, helping Stiles to his feet. "Maybe also like a vampire."

                Stiles would have hit Derek with his cane if he could stand upright without it.

 

**~.x.~**

Stiles lay in his bed propped against Derek's chest. Derek ran his fingers through Stiles' hair.

                "You should style it," Derek muttered.

                "Seriously?"

                "Why not? You hate getting it cut. When you wait too long, it falls in your eyes. You could make it stand up or fall back instead of getting in the way." Derek's chest rumbled comfortably as he spoke.

                Stiles had to admit that was practical enough.

                Derek kissed the top of Stiles head. "I can feel the change in you since the fight."

                "You mean the broken bones and holes?"

                "They're mending."

                Stiles grumbled, "Slowly."

                Derek grinned. Stiles felt it in his heart. "I meant you're more Joker than you were before the fight."

                "It's not some other person," Stiles said. "It's not something I can just give a name to and shed."

                "More Joker, less conflicted. I'd almost think you found a version of yourself you like."

                Stiles snorted.

                "You nearly killed yourself fighting the Beast. Don't fall that far again. How you are now, that's a version of you I can handle."

                "I survived because my friends saved me. I'm not about to leave the pack, not even to fight Watchtower. We'll take them on together, and that's why we'll win." Stiles leaned his head back against Derek's chest and felt him breathing. "What about you? You've been searching longer than I have. Did you find your favorite version of yourself?"

                "No. That's okay. I'll get there."

                "Every version of you is my favorite. Give me a kiss. Your face is too far away."

                With a laugh, Derek leaned down to kiss Stiles. He pulled back far too soon.

                _Come back._

_Shush._

_Seriously? You're shushing me?_ Stiles had to send his indignation through the bond. Shifting position to express it physically sounded like too much work.

                "Mmhm," Derek confirmed, running his fingers through Stiles' hair again. "I know you want to fight. I know you need to fight. I do too. But I'm going to enjoy the hell out of being stuck cuddling you for now."

                "I also need to fuck but pass out after any rigorous physical exertion."

                "I'm more patient than you," Derek teased.

                Stiles groaned. "When I'm better, we're going to destroy them. We gave the hunters and the FBI their chance, and they've done jack shit. We're going to hunt down Sorokin and kill him. I don't care what Scott thinks. We're going to burn his corpse so he can't come back. Then we're going to do the same to the rest of them."

                "Mmhm," Derek agreed. "Death and destruction later. Cuddles first."

                "I hate you right now."

                "Love you too."

                Stiles closed his eyes and felt the beat of Derek's heart. When he was healed, he would ravage anything that faced him, but for now, he let his boyfriend hold him and kiss his hair.

 

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished the first draft of two original novels, but revision is haaaaaaarrrd (and I am a baby). One of them is Haha, No and Cole's origin story, but AU to this since I'm not stealing the Teen Wolf universe and its rules. The Riders, and Dumbo are in it too. I'm honestly not sure what publishing that as a novel would mean for this series, but I have to actually finish it and send it out (and hope someone out there likes it) before that matters anyway.


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